The Ellingham Curse
by Bodmin
Summary: I let my fantasy figure out what might happen the day after S5E8. We join Martin the morning after the turmoils caused by Mrs. T.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I am slowly waking up, but I don't want to. This dream is so great, so _perfect._

Yesterday's events clearly had an effect on me. I could practically feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I was desperate. I never thought the pure threat of losing James could seem like the end of the world. I've always had a miserable life, I've lived through a lot – but I am not sure if I could have survived the loss of my precious son.

And then seeing Louisa's angst. The professional in me knew that Aunt Ruth probably was right, she must have had the better judgement according to her education and experience.

But _I_ had put James into this danger, _I_ had caused Louisa's panic, and _I_ had to do everything to prove to her that I was willing to solve the problem, calm that madwoman down, and I had to do so following Louisa's guidance.

Even if that meant standing there near the cliff tops like a complete fool. The cliff top was a proper place to be, as I felt like I was at the edge of an abyss.

When Louisa ordered me to pretend to be in love with that mad woman, I didn't know what to do. I'm not good at declaring my love. But I saw Louisa's pleading eyes, and I knew what I wanted to tell _her_. So I kept saying what was coming into my mind. My mind racing.

It is really strange how much can change in just a few weeks. I've never felt so good in my entire life than at the time when Louisa and James were staying with me. For the first time I understood the concept of family and suddenly, it made sense.

Aunt Ruth thought I was just doing the decent thing in staying with Louisa, as in fact Edith had suspected when she warned me that I shouldn't feel I had to rescue Louisa when she turned up pregnant.

They both made one colossal mistake – I didn't need to run after Louisa to rescue _her_, but to let her rescue me. Or maybe James did that. I don't know. He seems to be quite a clever little fellow.

I love him.

There's something about my bloody insecurity that has always prevented me from telling Louisa what I feel about her. I don't want to embarrass her. Or maybe I'm just afraid of her reaction. I can never tell what Louisa will do next, what she thinks or feels.

She gave me a bit of hope the day before yesterday, when she expressed her hope that I would come down for weekend-visits. So maybe she did still want to see me.

I'm not good with words, but when I had to fight for my son, it felt so right to let her know what I felt. I didn't even care that that moron Penhale could be overhearing us.

Bloody Penhale! Why did he have to come back to look for his stupid police radio.

When Louisa had asked me to repeat to her, for the third time, that I actually do love her, I dared to prove it to her more openly. When my lips met hers, it felt…liberating.

But I don't want to take advantage of her. Studies have shown that the sexual side of a relationship is statistically more important to men than to women, I don't want her to feel obliged to follow my needs.

I want to be there for her, she doesn't have to _reward_ me for it. Having given me James is reward enough.

I was baffled myself at how natural it seemed to do the things I did for Louisa and James. I've always hated my daily routine to be interrupted. I like order. I like to be organised. Usually. The last weeks have been anything but. I learned how to hold a baby, how to change a baby, how to feed and burp a baby. The only reward I got was to stroke James' tummy, or have him squeezing my fingers. But, my, it was worth it.

I realised that Louisa was still a bit confused and stressed about the new baby situation. I tried to take some of the everyday life tasks off her. I really enjoyed keeping an eye on her – when she had mistaken the milk for her tea cup, when she almost let the milk boil. Gosh, I even jumped around like a madman, in my pyjamas, holding a crying baby! If anyone had told me that I would ever do such a thing, I would have snarled at him. I lost a glass tumbler and almost my coffee machine.

But I didn't regret one single moment. Looking back, Louisa didn't give me much encouragement or reward. Only after I had put together James' cot she did make a positive comment, but I don't expect that from her. Honestly I don't. If I can just see her, knowing that she will be home, feeling her warmth next to me at night, having her sitting opposite me during meals. I would happily spend my life that way. If I got nothing more out of life for the rest of my days but being around to make life easier for _her_, my life would be well lived, my time well spent. I guess I'm just besotted with that woman.

My cold, analytical nature would never have thought that such an intense infatuation could be possible, but life has taught me a lesson – my life means nothing to me anymore if I can't be around my son and her.

And finally, I could admit as much to her. I suppose that'll mean Portwenn for the rest of my life. Portwenn and Louisa. And James. When Louisa took my hand and we were strolling back, hand in hand, to my car yesterday, I felt like a teenager. Except that I never have felt this way before, _especially_ not as a teenager. But the whole world was absolutely right, all of a sudden.

I was devastated when she moved out a few days ago. Even more so than last year, when she had declared that she never wanted to see me again after that fateful concert. Then, I only had my dreams to give me an illusion of what we might have.

Now I know what it is like to be with Louisa – in the physical as well as the social sense. Now I know it is bloody wonderful to _have_ Louisa. And I don't just mean in _that_ way, but in any way.

It felt so right living with Louisa since James was born. I never touched her in an unseemly manner, mind you, but just knowing that she was there. Seeing James first thing in the morning. Sharing the care for that little, precious bundle. Having something that joins us together. Not having to eat alone. It was all so new, so family-like – so right.

That made it even more horrifying when that infatuated crazy woman put everything at risk. I should have spotted that she had lost her marbles – the unspeakable yellow jumper was a strong indicator.

But so much happened that day that I had filed the jumper away as not particularly important. If I hadn't been that blind a few months ago, yesterday's events could have been avoided.

But then, Louisa probably wouldn't have agreed to move back to my place. We're living here as a family again.

My family.

I told Louisa that I won't be like my father, and I really suppose that's true. I can't imagine my father feeling for me what I feel for James. He couldn't have treated me the way he did if he had. I couldn't treat James the way I was treated. And James won't become just another one jinxed with the Ellingham curse.

However, there is one _Herculean task_ ahead of me. Louisa told me yesterday, following my pleading – yes, I did actually beg her to take me back, and I am not ashamed that I did – that we have to talk things through properly this time.

I hate talking.

I always say the wrong things, I know that, and I don't really know what to say at all. What she wants to hear. How to improve things.

Louisa put it bluntly that she is not prepared to live with me in the same way we lived together before. She insists that we have to make some changes. That means probably she expects me to change.

I suppose I will have to try, because I know now for certain that I will not be able to leave Louisa and our wonderful son behind. I simply don't want to live without them anymore. Although I'm petrified of what Louisa might demand of me, I'll have to consider it seriously. I can't afford to muck it up again.

Luckily, Louisa was worn out yesterday after all this turmoil, so she didn't feel like talking at all. Thankfully, she agreed to stay at my place tonight. I suppose she didn't really fancy being alone, now that her awful mother is gone.

And I really wanted to have James around. I couldn't stand the thought of not knowing what he was doing. After all, it had been so close that I might have lost the one great good my life had offered me just after a few weeks. That would have been typical for me.

No, I could not let James sleep away from me.

During the night, I could hear him whimper, wailing and gurgling a couple of times – and it was the sweetest music to my ear. I didn't mind getting up during the night to feed him and soothe him. He deserves a home he can feel safe in. He deserves better than what I have given him so far.

What is it this morning? My body feels so absolutely content. I feel relaxed and tense all at the same time. Dare I say I feel almost …_happy?_

I can't shake this dream of mine, although my mind is already awake enough to sum up yesterday's events. This dream captivates me – I can't shake it. And I really don't want to.

The warmth of Louisa's body and her sweet smell on the cushions next to mine set my mind racing, just as her voice on the answering machine had, when she called me because of Peter Cronk's injury all these years ago.

My dirty mind makes me imagine her nimble fingers following the lines of my face, my jaw, my cheekbone, circling the area around my ear. I feel her lips softly touching my cheek, then my neck – finally I feel her lips on mine like the touch of a butterfly.

It sets my heart racing. It also provokes another reaction, which I try to suppress sternly.

I have to wake up. _Quickly!_ I have to pull myself away from this hallucination. But it is so sweet. It is _exactly_ what I need right now.

Just a moment more. Just relish the touch of her hands and lips just a minute longer, even if I just imagine it.

I feel her hands running over the top of my pyjamas, and she slides her hands between the button tab and her fingernail is slightly scratching the sensitive skin on my chest. I remember this manipulation from our short engagement. It makes me quite hot and suddenly I hear a moan escaping my lips.

Blimey! Did I really do that, or is it part of my dream? I have to wake up. Open your eyes, man! You can't lie next to her groaning and grunting!

With much effort I manage to open my eyelid a bit. It flutters, then it shuts down again. But I still feel the fingernails scraping over my skin. I'm still not completely out of it.

I throw my eyes open.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Good morning, Martin." Louisa purrs in a seductive whisper. "I thought you'd never wake up."

The first thing I see is Louisa's hair, her wonderful dark mane, cascading down towards me. A quick check reveals several more or less disturbing facts – Louisa is kneeling on me, her hand is indeed under my top and the longer I look into her eyes, staring down at me, the more I feel myself getting lost in them.

I know I have to do something, but for the life of me I don't know what.

Yes, of course. I have to stop it!

But why? She's making you feel so bloody wonderful, you haven't felt this way for ages!

Yes, but James! He's in his cot, just a few feet away. He will see and hear everything.

"Louisa?" I croak, and I notice in amazement that my voice sounds strangely strangled, deep, shaky and husky.

She quickly kisses my lips. Nothing passionate, but it sends by blood racing. I manage a completely idiotic "It's hot."

"Yes, Martin, it is rather warm in here. Maybe you're too buttoned up? Maybe that's the problem?"

Without waiting for an answer, her slender hands attack the top button of my pyjamas and deftly undo it. She manages to open three more buttons before I compose myself enough to speak. Again, my voice is at least a third deeper than usual, much to my horror.

"What are you doing?" I ask like a complete idiot, as if this isn't obvious.

"Just thought I'd make you more comfortable?" Louisa's face is dangerously close to mine, and I can't guarantee that I can control myself for much longer. I was yearning for her since…since…actually, come to think of it, since my job interview. She's playing a very dangerous game.

While I lie here, staring up at her, she had managed to unbutton my pyjama top and pushes it away, so that my bare chest is presented to her. She runs her hands over it, slowly and with exactly the right pressure. I try to suppress my moan, but a strangled sound escapes my mouth.

Louisa looks at me, and I can't read her expression – there is something sombre about her, even a bit aggressive, something sad, and something else, which I can't point out.

My ridiculous voice whispers: "Louisa, you don't have to do that?"

"What?" She sounds a bit annoyed, but I'm not sure what about exactly.

"Eehhhmmm…" and I feel myself blush from ear to ear. "You know…" My voice trails off.

"Why not?"

"Please don't think I expect from you…I mean, you don't have to, for my sake…I…" I can't talk any more, as she slaps me quite hard.

"Ouch!" Now I _am_ completely awake. I prop myself up as far as it is possible with Louisa kneeling above me. "What was that for?" I'm not even angry with her. I just want to understand.

"You really think I'm doing this for your sake, do you?"

Somehow I managed to make her angry again. "Honest, Louisa, you really don't have to …I mean…"

She strikes out again, and I prepare myself for another blow. Instead, her hand lands gently on my head and pulls teasingly at my hair.

"You stupid man! Did it never occur to you that I have some needs, too? And right now, I need you."

Her face approaches mine and soon her lips cover mine. This time her kiss is deeper, she rests her body on mine, lying on my chest, running one hand through my hair and the other one underneath my pushed back, open pyjama top along my shoulders.

My control starts to falter. Well, that's putting it mildly. It withers away like roses in December. Or melts like butter in the sun.

Gosh, it _is_ hot in here!

The kiss becomes more and more carnal. I lift my hand and bury it in her hair.

I know it is wrong what I'm doing, but I dreamt of this for so long. I simply haven't got the strength to do the right thing any longer.

She comes up for air and is towering above me, looking down at me somehow triumphantly.

"Louisa, we really shouldn't. Think of James."

She puts on a rather sly smile, before she bends down, and almost touching my ear, she whispers: "Don't worry about him. He won't tell anybody."

Then she bites my earlobe, and she knows darn well on what road that sends me.

I can't suppress the moan that escapes my lips and I can hear her chuckle.

It dawns on me that this is not only about physical contact. This is about power. This is about the power she has over me. She wants to prove that she knows exactly what buttons she has to push to send me.

I couldn't care less.

I am completely under her spell, and since yesterday – no, that's not true, actually since she moved out – I know for certain that I am putty in her hands. That I would do almost everything to keep her.

For a moment like this I'm prepared to sell my soul – except that it has no market value.

But I'm really apprehensive about making love in front of my son. That is not a suitable children's program, after all. If she has in mind what I think she has, and certainly what dominates my brain, then it's for adults only.

"But he would see us." I stammer.

For the first time in weeks, no months, Louisa laughs. How much I had missed that. Her solemn face had proved to me that I make her miserable. That is the only price I'm not prepared to pay to have this moment.

But she laughs, and it is so liberating, that I sink back into the cushions and just gaze up at her.

She brings both of her hands towards my head and locks it firmly. She scratches her nails over my scalp, and she knows darn well what that does to me.

My breathing accelerates, I feel dizzy and … horny.

This woman can play with my emotions like no one ever could.

She removes her hands and they flutter over my chest again.

"James doesn't know what's going on. He's too young for that. We'll be fine." She says, and I could listen to her voice for the rest of my rotten life. "Just fine." She whispers, then lowers herself down to trail kisses over my chest.

The soft touch of her mouth is driving me crazy. If I really want to avoid anything happening, I'll have to do it now.

I prop myself up, which makes her stop and look at me with astonishment.

"I think we'd better stop." I force myself to say calmly.

"Martin." She looks me straight in the eye. "Shut up." She orders gently.

"But…"

She puts her finger on my lips, and I withstand the urge to suck it.

Then she takes my arms and leads them to the headboard.

"Cling to that." She advises. "I just have to check something."

With this cheeky comment her head disappears under the blanket. It just takes a moment, and I feel what she is up to.

When I look down, I just see the outline of her body under the blanket.

I feel her touch. Her hand reaches under the elastics of my pyjama bottoms. She pulls at my pyjamas, and soon I feel her body leaning against my naked legs.

I know what she is up to, and my skin, tongue and lips are tingling in anticipation.

I know it isn't right, but I can't stop her. I simply can't.

I feel her hands sliding under my pants and I suck in air.

Her head pops up for a second. "Your plumbing surely needs fixing." She smiles up at me, and my brain can't form the words neither to contradict nor confirm.

I just stare up at the ceiling, clinging onto the headboard as if my life depends on it and I get lost in those crazy sensation her fingers give me. She tickles and strokes me, as if my already keen dodger would need any encouragement. My head swims, my blood races, my defences are down while something else is up.

She licks it, she actually, truly licks it, and I shiver. This is better than any dream that I ever had about her. I always was too decent in my dreams. This is the naughtiest I've ever experienced, and much to my embarrassment it sends me right into the stratosphere.

My hands hurt now, as I'm gripping tightly to the headboard, sure that I would faint and fall over despite lying down if I let go.

She's working me up, and I realise that this isn't good enough. I want to be inside her. Gosh, did I really think that?

I croak something unintelligible under my breath, between moans. She peeks up, her hands around my waist.

"Yeah?" She asks, as if I had disturbed her during some important business.

Clumsily and reluctantly I let the headboard go and reach down to her face.

"Come for me." My voice is surprisingly steady, but still definitely too deep. A side effect of the testosterone teeming through my body.

Louisa scrambles up, mounting me. While I am completely naked under the sheets, she is still in her night dress, inclusively the blue jumper she seems to prefer lately.

I let my hands roam over her hips and her bottom. I like her curvy figure. She's a woman.

She no longer orders me to hold onto the headboard. She kneels calmly astride me. My hand sneaks under her top. She doesn't stop me.

My eyes are locked into hers. I want her.

She brings out in me raw emotions I always sneered about, especially….

I suddenly see that something is bothering her. Did I do something wrong? She looks shell-shocked.

I withdraw my hand and suddenly feel exposed, with no clothes on.

"Louisa, what did I do?" I ask, my eyes widened with shock. Have I been too bold?

She starts to cry, and I don't want that. I don't know what's wrong.

I hesitate a second, not knowing what to do. Finally I heave myself up a bit so that I can put my arm around her shoulder. She doesn't shrug it off, so probably it's OK.

She's quietly sobbing, and I keep stroking her shoulder, but I simply have to know what it is all about.

"Louisa, what's wrong?"

"I'm such an idiot! This was a mistake. I'm sorry."

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Oh?" I can't hide my disappointment. She's regretting this already. I try to withdraw from her, but she grabs my neck and clings to it.

"No, you idiot! Not that."

"What?" She confuses me.

"I didn't think it through, again. I'm just such an emotional cow."

"NO!" I can't stand when she talks like that. "No, you're fine."

"No, I'm not." She turns towards me and looks into my eyes before speaking serenely. "Don't get it the wrong way. I really love James, honest I do, but it was more painful than I expected…"

'_Might be because you've given birth in the backwaters, without any pain relief at all'._ I think, but keep my mouth shut.

"…and I am a bit knackered from looking after him all the time."

_Sure, I do understand. You need rest._

"Having a baby is much harder than I thought."

_You're doing fine._ I want to assure her, but my throat is tight. She sighs deeply.

"I really don't want to risk having another baby, not so soon, that is." She sighs again, and a tear trickles down her cheek. I use my thumb to wipe it away. "Well, I am truly sorry that I started this without thinking, but I'm not on the pill again…."

_Not that this had worked the first time_, I think glancing over at James.

"…you know, with breastfeeding and all that."

"Very sensible." I state. This only requires my medical opinion, I can manage that.

"Well, fact is, I've got no protection." She sighs.

I am relieved. Obviously she spots it.

"Yes, you can relax. I won't come any closer. I'll stop here." She sounds exasperated.

"We don't have to stop." I rub her cheek with my thumb, partly because more tears are flowing.

"Martin, really, I don't want to risk anything, and the morning after pill is no good idea while…"

"I've got some condoms left, from last year. You know."

Her face brightens up, and it is the best sight I've ever seen. So she really does want me _that _way, and nothing in this world could make me happier.

I had kicked myself several times during the last year in the proverbial for being too sentimental to get rid of the stock I had purchased while I was in Truro during our engagement. Now I'm grateful.

She leans down and kisses my cheek, running her hand through my hair.

"Oh, Martin! Then I suppose…" instead of spelling it out, she nibbles at my earlobe, sending new waves over me.

My arms wander over her back, pulling her closer.

She starts nibbling and grazing my neck and I slide my hand under her top. While she treats my sensitive skin on my neck with her lips and teeth, I pull more and more vigorously at her top.

Finally she withdraws from me forcefully. Still sitting astride me, she removes this blue wool thing and then pulls her top over her head.

My eyes are fixed on her body. Although we've been living together for two months now, I had made sure to respect her privacy, so I haven't seen her naked. Except, maybe, for a short glimpse when she started breastfeeding first thing we brought James home from hospital.

Her figure has changed. Pregnancy and the birth process do that. Besides, her breasts show all the signs of a lactating woman. Her breasts are full and heavy – and so beautiful.

Everything about her spells it out – she is the mother of my son.

I lift my hand and let my finger glide over her breasts.

"Yeah," she sighs, "I know. They're _enormous!_"

"Right."

"It's not my fault, you know!" She is obviously embarrassed, but why? She's a wonderful woman!

"Of course not. Why fault?" I stammer, not sure how to avoid putting my foot into it.

"You must think they're fat." She sighs again, and suddenly I spot insecurity in her eyes.

"No!" I hurry to assure her. "No," I lift myself up to place a gentle kiss on both of her nipples, then my husky voice utters. "They're gorgeous." I peek up to her, and for the first time I fully realise that I am about to make love to her again.

"Where are those bloody condoms?" She exclaims, all of a sudden very fidgety.

"Still in the bedside drawer. Give me some space and I'll reach over."

"No problem, I can easily manage." She smiles down at me and reaches her hand out.

I suddenly remember the full content of that drawer, and with panic in my voice I try to stop her "Let me!".

The look she's giving me could kill.

"Why, what's in there? Something I shouldn't see?"

"I…uhm…."

"Martin?" There is something in her voice that I don't like at all. I resign.

"Alright, go ahead then."

She reaches over and opens the drawer. Now that I have arisen her suspicion, she inspects the contents thoroughly. She peeks over from time to time and I feel myself blushing.

She picks out the envelope, torn and worn out by now, and removes the letter. It has water marks on it. Little tiny drops that have smeared the ink, but the letter is still clearly identifiable.

Louisa looks down at me with a guilty look on her face and I turn my head away.

I hear her rummage through the drawer and know what she will spot next, stored away in a small box that formerly had a watch in it. I hear the box click open.

"You kept it?" she exclaims in disbelief, and I gulp. "And at your bedside, too? Both of it…no, wait!" She had also spotted the third and last item of my guilty reminders, the reasons for my empty bed for so long.

I feel her body turning towards me again, then her hand touches my chin and forces my face to look into hers.

"You sentimental fool." She purrs. "Who would have thought?"

Now it's her turn to wipe my tears away, tears of guilt, mostly. I shoot a short glance over to my bedside table – there they are. All three of them. Nasty reminders of my inability to make Louisa happy, reminder that _I_ am to blame for the state of our affair.

Louisa had removed all three of them, and now they sit on top of the table, rather than being hidden inside – Louisa's letter, calling the wedding off; the engagement ring she had returned to me the day after our disastrous non-wedding; the tiny yellow flower she had been so eager to put on my lapel during the concert.

"You poor thing." She keeps on whispering and caressing my face, a lump in my throat making it impossible for me to answer. "I didn't know you had taken it so badly. You always seemed so calm, so untouched by it."

I can't do anything but gulp.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"How?" I croak.

"Let's see if I can make it better." She now waves the fourth item, she had removed from my drawer, in front of me.

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Do you want to do it yourself, or shall I help you?" She beams at me and the promise of what lies ahead wipes away my tears better than all her soothing words or caressing thumbs could do.

"Go ahead." I nod.

"Right!"

She puts the blanket back. "Sorry for digging up old memories, that was quite a let-down, I'm afraid." She states, inspecting the state of me. "Wait, I'll see to it."

She starts stroking it with her deft fingers, and her healing powers are astounding. _It _is protruding proudly again in no time.

"Better." She simply states, before opening the package with her teeth and sheathing me.

Now I am ready for action. I heave myself up a bit and bury my head between her breasts, kissing her chest, licking it. My hands roam down her side, tucking impatiently at her pyjama bottoms. I want her naked – like me.

Skin on skin.

She puts her hand at the back of my head and draws it closer to her, and now we're as close as it gets. I keep kissing her, trailing the kisses downwards over her chest down to her stomach.

I pull again at her clothes, and she lifts her hips, so that I can push her pyjama bottoms and her knickers down in one move. She wiggles, to get rid of them completely and I hear them gliding to the floor in a whisper.

She scrambles up a bit and is now on eye level with me. My hands glide over her ribcage, over her hips and finally grab her bottom. In my mind I compare her figure with the one I had memorised from last year – and which I had replayed in my mind countless times in between. She certainly has changed. Pregnancies do that to a woman – the hips, her bottom, and her breasts, certainly.

I compare the past with the present and decide that I like her body even more, if that's possible.

I always liked her curves, not a slim stick, but a true woman with curves at the exact right places, not too much, just right. I also always liked her bum, and I felt quite naughty whenever I watched her leaving my surgery downhill and couldn't help but stare at her backside, but I simply couldn't turn my eyes away.

I squeeze her bum, kneading it, and I can see that she is enjoying my touch. Whenever I touch her, I am painfully aware of the size of my hands. My enormous paws almost cover her delicate backside completely, and I try to be gentle when digging my fingers into her flesh. I follow her curves carefully and try to get this new image into my head. Her changed figure that spells "Mother of my son" through and through.

The thought that I had made her a mother one of the last times we were that close gives me a warm tingling inside. It makes it even more exciting that she still fancies me.

And she does, her tongue travelling along my shoulder and neck proves that. She also hasn't forgotten my sensitive spots, and is working me up caressing them with lips and tongue and fingers.

My roaming hands get busier, and I sneak one of them under her hair, to gently pull at her neck to bring her lips to mine. She follows and soon our lips are locked. We are battling with tongues and lips and in our mouth, our breath mix to create one air we both breathe on.

It fuels my passion, and my brain can only spell the word "Louisa", and the whole world tumbles and shrinks into this one essence.

Nothing can matter anymore, except the moaning and gurgling sounds she makes, except for her hot breath burning in my throat, except for feeling her growing wet and ready for me.

Another thing indicating her growing state of readiness is the fact that her gentle caresses and tender kisses were exchanged for her fingernails digging into and scratching over my skin and her teeth slightly biting me – my neck, my earlobes, my nipples. She really is a wildcat, and I know I will never be able to tame her – and I love her for it.

Making love to her is always like walking into a lions den – you know you can't get out of it unscratched, but the excitement makes it well worth it.

My little lioness comes up for air and the way she looks into my eyes makes me shiver. There is this wild flicker that I missed so much, spelling strength, passion and independence. Exactly the way that I like her most.

It had twisted my heart seeing her the last couple of months, seeing that I had drained life out of her, that I made her miserable and seeing her torn apart, insecure and sad.

Now life has returned into her, and she is more beautiful than ever when she attacks me again with her teasing teeth.

I have my head thrown back, mouth wide open to get enough air, while my blood is racing and my whole body is feeling and revelling in the precious pressure she puts on me.

Her hips are slightly raised, and I sneak my hand to her crotch, inserting my index finger into it and start rubbing her.

She arches and is tense as a bowstring. Now she has thrown back her head and presents her exposed neck to me. I bring my lips to her vulnerable skin and start sucking it. She lets out an excited shriek and I can't help but chuckle.

I haven't lost my power to satisfy her, I notice with contentment. I keep stroking her with increasing rhythm and force, and she clings to me with clutched hands as if she's afraid to be lifted off into the air if she'd ever let me go.

I assure her that she is safe by putting my arm around her. Her eyelids flutter and fly open, looking at me with mad bewilderment.

I withdraw my hands and I hear her disappointed groan. She lets me pull her close into a bear hug, while adjusting myself to be able to penetrate her at an optimal angle.

My hands on her hips, I lead her to me, and she lowers herself onto me, until I slide into her with relative ease. She welcomes me with her wet, velvety warmth and I feel like I am on top of the world.

I vaguely register a lewd grunt, and probably it was me. She sucks in air and digs her nails deep into my shoulder blades. I will be black and blue tomorrow, but I gladly take it. I start to thrust into her, first slowly and steadily. She moans and her hips adjust to my rhythm. She is riding me like an Amazon ready for battle. Her hair is swirling around when she throws her head back.

I increase the pressure and rhythm, thrusting deeper and harder into her, following her guidance of appreciative noises and my own needs. It is a wild ride through passion and lustfulness. We both know that we are speeding toward the finishing line, but I want it to last longer.

I try to slow down, but it's a lost cause. I hardly have any control over my body, which is completely hormone-guided by now.

My hands are on Louisa's waist, and I feel her rhythmic motions to accommodate my thrusts. I hear her groan, moan, and this croaky voice she makes at the back of her throat before passion fully claims her.

And I hear something else that I can't classify yet.

"Louisa!" I reach out to her with my husky, croaky voice, and she giggles in response. And there is this gurgling again. I'm pretty sure it's not coming from me, and as I can hear Louisa's shrieks and shouts, it's quite unlikely that these noises are coming from her.

Suddenly I remember that we are not completely alone in the room, and our shouting and groaning must have encouraged little James to join in with happy gurgles.

I am embarrassed and shocked realising that my son is indeed reacting to the love-making right in front of his eyes. It is embarrassing, but also strangely exciting.

Anyhow, I can't stop, I have to ride this wave until it brings us both into the safe harbour of satisfaction.

Louisa must have sensed that my efforts had been a bit distracted, as she groans in rhythm…"Keep…doing…it….Mar…tin…." and she finishes with a sigh.

Who am I to deny her this wish? With my son gurgling me forward, I concentrate again on satisfying Louisa. The problem is not so much to keep doing it, but not to come before she is ready. I watch her to spot the signs when she is right on the edge, ready to shatter into a thousand pieces, waiting for me to take her into my arms until she had collected herself, put herself together again. Then I can let myself go and explode into her, being shot right into stratosphere like some rocket.

I feel her coming and now, I allow myself to let go completely. The last few thrusts are frantic, and I'm glad that this bedroom doesn't share a wall with any other house, or the comments from the neighbours might be quite embarrassing. We certainly don't qualify as quiet at the moment, with all the grunting, shouting and rocking.

Now I feel myself coming, but Louisa beat me to it. We cry out, and she slumps down on me. My hands slide over her sweaty, slippery body, and I realise that my state is like I had been stewed in my own juice.

I try to catch my breath while I feel Louisa breathing hard on my chest. I put my arm around her protectively and lower my head so that my lips kiss the top of her head. Her hair is tangled, and she buries her face into my chest. Her breathing grows more and more steady, and she slowly starts to caress my arm gently. After sliding her fingers tenderly over it several times, she glides it down to my hand and clasps it.

I want to say something. Tell her how much I love her. How much I enjoyed this experience. How glad I am that she is back in my life. I want to let her know that this is the only way I can make sense of this world, the only meaning in my life. I really want to.

But my throat is tight, my lips shiver without saying a word and my mind is blank. I am lost for words, as I always am with her, and I am scared I'd say something to offend her – again.

So I use my lips for the one thing I know I can manage – kissing the top of her head gently, while my fingers are rubbing her shoulder.

She lets out a huge sigh, as if the weight of the world has been lifted from her. She peeks up at me and studies my face carefully.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Was that really so hard?" She asks, and I do not understand the question.

Before I can embarrass myself in answering a question I did not fully understand, my son comes to my rescue.

The gurgling that has gone on since we really _made a go of it_, had slowly turned into a whimper and progressed into a proper bawling.

"James seems to be hungry." I find the easy way out. Louisa sighs, she seems a bit annoyed by the interruption or maybe by me, but gets out of the bed to pick up James.

She coos at him. I will never understand why nobody can talk to a baby as if it is a real person, and I don't understand when the baby talk should stop and real interaction begins. James probably doesn't notice yet, but reacts positive to Louisa's voice and attention. I still think it is not right to be naked in front of him, but that can't be helped anymore. Besides watching naked Louisa bending over our precious son's bed is a sight I enjoy very much.

She picks James up and carries him to our bed. She props herself up against the headboard and feeds him. I roll to my side and rest on my elbows. I had considered turning away, as I usually do, but after what had just happened between us, this seems a bit unnecessary.

I watch him suck greedily, and it occurs to me, that my saliva is probably still all over her breasts and that James is drinking it together with his mother's milk.

Louisa holds the baby tight to her, carefully cupping his head and watches him drink. Then she lifts her head and looks over to me.

She searches my eyes, and we stare at each other.

I still feel uncomfortable watching this highly intimate scene, but Louisa doesn't seem to mind. After all, I was all over her just moments ago, so I shouldn't be so peculiar about it. I find the process of breast-feeding fascinating.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

"What?" and I nod to the sucking child in response.

"Martin, this is not a consultation. So stop it."

Sure it's no consultation, or I wouldn't be lying naked in front of her. But I do stop, although I would really like to understand how it feels. Women can be so much closer to their children than we men can ever be. Nature's injustices.

James' gulps become less greedy, and he spills more milk than he actually swallows. Quite clearly, he has had enough. Louisa hands me the child, and more out of routine than necessity I put a cloth over my shoulder, hold him tightly towards me and start rubbing his back.

Now it's Louisa's turn to watch me, the cloth over my shoulder the only textile on my body, rubbing my son's back, waiting for his belches.

Finally, he releases air and milk, and when I move to get up to change his nappy, Louisa stops me.

"Wait, I'll do it."

"I wouldn't mind."

"No bother, give him to me."

And, once again, our son is handed from one to the other.

Before Louisa gets out of bed, she looks sternly at me.

"Don't you dare get out of bed." She orders. There is this sparkle back in her eyes. This is very reassuring and I just hope I won't kill that again. I do as she tells me, as I always do. No one orders me around. No one dares. No one even thinks of it.

No one, but her.

Maybe that is part of her appeal that she stands up to me. It _is_ a huge responsibility to be always right, because no one dares or bothers to contradict. That is one of the few problems we do not have. She can be quite outspoken, and I really enjoy that someone tells me what to do in no uncertain terms. A decision that I do not have to make, which is made for me, and that tolerates no dissent.

Louisa doesn't bother to put her robe on. I keep on watching her while she attends to her business. Finally, James has a fresh nappy, but Louisa puts no rompers on, but brings the child to our bed, just dressed in his nappy.

To be fair, James is still wearing more than any of us.

Louisa puts James next to me and then comes to bed herself. We are both lying on our sides now, facing each other. I have my arm stretched out, and Louisa rests on it, while my other arm is on her hip. James is lying between us, and she has her hand on his tiny head. Our legs intertwined.

If someone would have told me three months ago that I would do this, I would have screwed up my face in disgust. Lying naked in bed with your almost naked son would have seemed dodgy.

What I didn't know then is this intense feeling of closeness. Our three naked bodies touching each other, and even when I touch Louisa now it's completely innocent, if that makes any sense. There is no lust, no desire. Only an intense calmness and sense of belonging.

The three of us – that's all that matters. And _yes_, I am really part of it.

I'm not just a spectator, as I have been almost all my life, seeing others enjoying themselves, seeing emotions from the outer view, and never understanding any of it.

The intensity of emotions I feel now makes me gulp, and Louisa lifts her hand and strokes my hair.

I don't want this moment to stop, ever. I am content as I've never been before. I bend down to kiss James' head gently, and Louisa rewards me with her gorgeous smile.

I missed that, as I had wiped the smile off her face. I still think I'm the wrong man for her, but the trouble is that she is the only right woman for me. One of us has to make a compromise.

Well, maybe both, as she won't get a man worthy of her as long as I stay with her, but I have to put an enormous effort into caring for her, to even out the injustice I do to her.

"Do you still want us to come to London with you?" Louisa asks, her hand still in my hair.

"No." I answer softly, and she withdraws her hand. She picks up James, retreats to the headboard, tucks up her legs and covers her indecencies with our baby.

I did it again. I pushed her away. I am sorry for my son that he has to shield her from me. She glowers over at me, with an expression somewhere between sad and furious.

"I mean…I thought…it's just…" I try to find the right words, stammer, then sigh and fall silent.

"You could have told me _before_ we ended up in bed." She scolds me. So she regrets already.

I look sadly towards her.

"Maybe I'd better go." She declares and wants to get up.

"But you wanted to talk?" I say, still dumb from her sudden change of mood.

She draws James closer to her, as a protective barrier. "But of what use would that be, if you're hundreds of miles away from us in just a few weeks?"

"Sorry." I mumble.

"Why don't you want us anymore?" She accuses me. Doesn't this woman understand me at all? Of course I want her, more than anything in this bloody, useless world!

"It just wouldn't be fair to you. You wouldn't like London." I lamely say, and before I can make my point, Louisa is in a huff.

"Stop making decisions for me, Martin!" Whenever she is angry, her Cornish accent is more prominent. "I can decide for myself! I know what's good for me!"

"But you don't know what you're getting yourself into." I keep on explaining. "My flat is in a rather posh area, and most women there are either eager business-women, who work all day, or they're women who have married for status and money, and make full use of both. I can't imagine you becoming friendly with any of them. I won't have to, because first, I never care about my neighbours, as long as they're not noisy, and second, I won't be around much."

"As top consultant, I'd spent many hours in hospital, there are operations that can go on for hours, and when I come home, I'll be tired and just want some rest. That was OK for me before, as I mainly came home to eat and sleep. But it wouldn't be fair to you and James." Now I've made my point.

"So you choose your career over us? Now that you got over your blood thing" Again, there is accusation in her voice, and, again, she got the wrong end of the stick.

"No, Louisa." I assure her, as calmly as I can.

"So how would _you_ call it?" This is hardly a question.

"Louisa, when you disappeared…." _after our wedding, I mean the wedding that wasn't…_ "…last year." I stumble over my words. "There was just one thing that was important to me – to finally conquer my blood phobia and return to surgery."

"And you did. You can operate again. You proved it." She cuts me off.

"Yes, I worked _really_ hard to finally shake it for good."

"Good for _you_." She sneers. "That's why you were so eager to operate on Mum."

"I wasn't _eager_!" This is an outrageous assumption. "If I hadn't, she would have died!"

"Oh, right. You're job's sooo much more important."

"Yes, it is."

"Really, Martin, I should go now."

"But you don't understand!"

"Because I'm dumb, or what?"

I don't know what she's aiming at. "No." I state confused.

She leans forward, without letting her guard – or our son – down. "Look Martin, if you have to go to London alone, then go. We won't hinder your career."

"You don't understand. I do have this contract. They can sue me if I don't turn up."

"Oh, right, that is a great sacrifice, isn't it?" Somehow I've got the feeling, she's mocking me.

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, get off it!"

"No, honest, Louisa, I really think I should go down and discuss it with them in person."

She hesitates. "Discuss what, exactly?"

"How long I have to fulfil my contract before they can find a replacement. Maybe my stand-in at the moment will be able to do it permanently, then there wouldn't even be a need for me to stay."

I can see that it hadn't sunk in what I just said. Did she really think I could still leave her and James in Portwenn and go to London alone? What does she take me for? I just told her yesterday that I want to be in Portwenn, because that is where she is.

"So you…what?"

"What?"

"I mean…what about London, then?"

"I don't go. At least, if you want me to stay. I mean, do you?"

"But you just said how hard you worked to go back to surgery."

"Because without you, Portwenn was unbearable."

"And how long do you think you could stay here without blaming us for ruining this opportunity for you? Now that you've had a taste of it again?"

"I'm glad that I could prove to myself that I could still do it. It was good, because I found that it doesn't satisfy me as much as I thought it would. For goodness sake, I slaved myself through desensitisation, but what for? Just to run a blade into someone, day-in, day-out?"

"But I thought that's what you want?" Her voice softens, and I breathe in. Then I make a bold step to reach up to her and put my hand on hers, which is still holding James.

"I thought so, too, but I was proven wrong. You and James, that's what I really want."

She still doesn't believe me, or maybe she doesn't dare to believe. "Here in Portwenn?"

"Here, where you can be happy."

She falls silent for quite some minutes. "You're sure you won't regret, accuse us for ruining your career?"

"It is _my_ decision, so you're not to blame for anything. But what if I hadn't been here when your mother fell ill, or when this crazy woman abducted our son – I wouldn't have been able to help if I were in London? And I won't be able to spend time with James when I'm in London, even if you two were coming, too."

"So you're waiting a couple of years more before you go back indefinitely?"

"No, Louisa, I'm giving it up."

"But Martin…!"

"Look, Louisa, when I turn this job down, and on short notice, too, then no one will ever offer me a job ever again. Then I'm through. As a surgeon, that is."

"Oh Martin!" She exclaims, covering her mouth with one hand in shock. "You're really prepared to sacrifice your career?"

"It won't be a sacrifice if we two can make it work." I want her to understand, I don't want her to feel guilty, I want to assure her – but right now, my stomach is growling.

Louisa is obviously glad for this distraction. She seems relieved, although I can't quite understand it. After all, it was _her_ who wanted to talk. Now, she obviously was struggling hearing the truth.

"Oh my, you must be starving! Time for breakfast. Who takes the first turn in the bathroom?" She asks, dissolving the atmosphere of the moment faster than I'd like it.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"I go first – I'm quicker and then I can prepare breakfast." I get up and disappear into the bathroom. I take a shower, dress and shave, then go into the bedroom to get James, who is finally wearing his romper suit, to take him down with me.

While I rummage around in the kitchen, I can hear her activities in the bathroom.

When she comes down, the breakfast table is laid out and everything's ready. I know by now that she prefers cereal rather than toast and eggs, and while I prefer coffee first thing, she wants tea.

We eat our breakfast in silence, mostly, and I'm eying her up from across the table. She seems strangely self-aware herself. When breakfast is almost finished, she finally asks.

"So how are you feeling, now?"

I nod slightly. "Fine."

"Just _fine_?" She enquires further, obviously not quite happy with my response. What else does she wants to hear? How shall I be feeling? I mean, we just made love, so I sure do feel fine.

"Hm?" I mutter, fully alert that there is a trap somewhere.

"Nothing more that you want to tell me?"

"No."

"Do you think you can manage more than just one syllable?"

"Right?"

Louisa turns her head away, enervated.

"What do you want me to say?" I'm desperate. I don't want to disappoint her again, but talking is simply not my forte.

"You could just tell me how you feel. I mean, a lot happened since yesterday."

"Yes." And I realise immediately that this is again just one syllable. I mean, it does answer her question, but in attempt to accommodate her wish, I add. "It has."

I don't think my effort is appreciated, as she still looks as annoyed as before.

"Martin, could you try to form whole sentences when talking to me? Or am I not worth your breath?"

"Of course you are."

"Well, at least we've progressed to subject _and_ predicate. If you can squeeze in an object, or – dare I hope – an adverb or adjective, you'd almost become chatty."

I look at her like an idiot and wrack my brain for _something_ to say, but my mind is a blank.

"Okay," she throws her head sideways and her ponytail swirls energetically. "I told you yesterday that if we want to live together, we have to talk about a few changes, compared to the last weeks, that is. One of them, and probably the most important one is – I need an adult conversation now and then."

I look up alarmed.

"Come on, Martin. You're an educated man. You should be able to manage a complete sentence now and then."

"Right."

"That's not even an incomplete sentence."

"I'm sure I can, if I must."

"You do. Especially since I'm sick of you are making decisions for me and James without talking about it. You _do _have to learn to discuss it with me first."

"But when I wanted your opinion on the prep school, you told me you didn't want to talk about it!" I say in defence.

She leans forward. "Because, Martin, that assumption is beyond discussion. James is not even three months old."

"No, it isn't. It is absolutely normal to get your children registered immediately after birth. If he is not on the waiting list before he is one year old, he won't have a chance."

"Great, so I just have to delay it for nine months more and James will be fine."

"I cannot understand why you are against James getting the best education possible!" I've got to stand my ground here, it is, after all, for the best interests of our son. I can't allow her to ruin his future.

"_Best education_." She mocks me. I hate it when she's doing that. "An education just like yours?"

"Yes."

"Bah!"

Now I don't understand anything anymore. I might have many flaws, and regarding my qualities as a conversational partner I second her, but I simply cannot see that _anything_ could be wrong with my education!

"What's wrong about that?"

"Do you really think that would be so desirable?"

"It's the best education you can…"

"…buy." She interrupts me before I can finish my sentence. I will never understand this aspect of hers. She seems fixated on money. She is a real snob in that respect.

"Do you really think it is right that the amount of money you can afford to spend on an education should decide on the chances you have in life?"

"But we _can_ give him the best possible education. Do you think it's fair to withhold this from him just to prove some dubious point on equal opportunity?"

"So equal opportunity is dubious?" She looks at me with a raised eyebrow and fire in her eyes.

"No?"

"And what about pupils who can't afford those posh schools?" I simply don't get her point.

"What has that got to do with James? We can afford it. Easily." I state the obvious.

"You mean _you_ can afford it."

Are we a couple now or not? She should know by now that everything I earn is providing for the family without saying.

"So?"

"You think because you earn more money _you_ have the right to decide which school James will go to?"

I don't understand this whole discussion. Is it about principles, about money or about James? I remember my speech yesterday and especially after the very pleasurable experience this morning I don't want to risk spoiling it again. So I take a deep breath to calm down. As softly as I can I tell her: "Louisa, I told you yesterday. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. You decide where he shall go to school."

She looks at me critically, still piercing me with her eyes.

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"You're really proud of yourself now, aren't you?"

Now she confuses me completely. What else does she want? This is the biggest defeat I can have. I can't give in any more, because I have surrendered completely.

I stare back at her, wracking my brain as to what she can possibly be expecting.

"Martin, that won't do." I'm completely shell-shocked.

"You don't really think that this is what I want?"

_Actually, yes, I did think so._

"What else do you want from me?" I ask back in a tone more angry than I planned. "I'll back you up in whatever you decide."

"I don't want you to _back me up_."

"I really don't know if you know what you want!" My voice cracks. I'm really desperate now, while Louisa still glowers at me. She remains silent for a frightening long time. Finally she sighs, and I think her face softens somehow.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"I told you – I'll go along with whatever you decide."

"And you _really_ think that this is what I want?"

"You weren't happy when I made plans."

"Do you remember that evening when I found out about the Christening?"

She left my cottage that night. How could I ever forget? I never knew despair could be so physically palpable before she left me the first time after the concert. And the second time on our wedding day. And the third time that night…

I nod slightly.

"Remember what I said?"

It seems I can remember every word she said, every movement of her and me. It seems that that evening haunts me. It is burned into my heart.

I nod again.

"So what have I said? Do you know why I had to leave that night?"

"Because I made a decision without consulting you."

"Well, close. And so you think _I_ want to make all of the decisions?"

I nod again.

"And you would be happy with that?" She asks and her eyebrows raise again.

"If that's what it takes, yes." I am firm. I will do _everything_ to keep her this time. I simply don't have the strength to lose either her or James, or worst of all – both.

"And you think that this is what I want?"

I nod again, feeling a bit stupid by now.

"And you would go along to…to make me happy, I suppose. To keep me?"

I nod, and it gives my heart a twist to have my feelings dissected like that.

Louisa gently shakes her head, avoiding looking at me. I've got the feeling that I've got something wrong again. I'm really worried.

Then Louisa lifts her head and steps towards me. I'm a bit puzzled when she gently strokes my cheek briefly.

"You really love me to pieces, don't you?"

I feel my face burn and my throat tightens and I look down at the floor.

"Martin." She calls my name gently, but I can't look into her eyes now, not after this question.

There is an awkward silence in the room until I feel her hand under my chin, forcing me to look at her.

"Martin. I don't want to bully you or be the boss."

"No?" I ask incredulously.

"The problem was that I couldn't stand that we couldn't _agree_ on anything. I want us to sit down, discuss things that have to be decided and then find a solution we can _both_ agree on."

I look at her quizzically. What she is asking of me is nothing I have ever experienced. Dad, Mum, and the boarding school decided what I had to do, to wear, how to live my life. Then the curriculum of the university left little time for decisions. Then I met Edith, and she told me what to do.

Then things changed gradually. With time passing and my standing in the hospital progressing, I was more and more in control, and finally, everyone did as I told them, and without hesitation. No one dared to talk back to me.

And now Louisa. She never did as I told her, even when she was endangering her life and the life of our unborn son in refusing to take antibiotics during her pregnancy.

Louisa and I are completely different. How on earth can she possibly think we could find an opinion which we both can agree on? Where would that come from? I say what I always say when I want to gain time.

"Right?"

"Right – what, Martin? '_Right_' like in '_yes, we will sit down and discuss things'_ or '_Right_' like in '_Just keep talking, I'm doing what I want to anyhow_'?"

"Nooo!" I practically exclaim. Why does she have to turn everything I say into a reproach?

"So we'll sit down to discuss things in future?"

I look at her sceptically. Why does she want to talk? Making decisions is easy enough – there are right ones that should be done, and wrong ones that should be avoided. A discussion about that wouldn't even last five minutes.

She still stares at me and I presume she expects a confirmation. Can I promise that – and keep it? What kind of decisions have to be discussed? Ones that will affect our life together – or even which toothpaste should be bought? Where is the limit? What can be assumed, what has to be discussed? I'm not sure I have the patience to talk about every bloody detail. Total waste of time.

"Martin," her voice brings me back to my little kitchen, "do you think you can stop making decisions for me?"

"Uhm….like what…exactly?"

She rolls her eyes and puts her chin out. I learned that the latter is really alarming.

"Gosh, really. You've been engaged before…"

"What?" How the hell does she know? She shouldn't. I mean I would never. It's just. I was young and inexperienced and didn't know any other woman. Not really. "How…?"

"How do I know? Joan told me about Edith. I bet you didn't make any decisions for _her_."

"I did decide on the meals."

"OK?"

"Hmm."

She waits and looks at me. I suppose she is expecting something from me. I wait, because I have no clue what.

"And how did you organise living together?"

"We did not. Live together, that is."

"But you must have shared some time."

"Yes?"

"So who decided what you did?"

"There was always something to do."

"Like what? What did you enjoy doing – with her?"

Why does she want to know? I feel uncomfortable discussing my former relationship with Louisa.

"Uhm…why?"

"I just want to understand. That's all."

"Well, we really liked – we both liked, that is…" I fall silent and Louisa keeps staring at me.

"What, Martin, what did you both like?"

"Working on presentations and publications." I gulp.

Louisa pauses and looks intently at me. "That's all?"

"Uhm… It's really rare to find someone who reviews your texts with so much honesty and expertise."

"Yes, but you don't have to go to bed with someone just for that?"

Now she did it. She turned it into a competition.

"No."

"So there must have been more. You must have done things together."

I try to remember, but I don't exactly know what Louisa is aiming at. "Like booking the same conferences?"

She sighs, clearly desperate. "No, not like attending the same bloody conference." She has raised her voice. "Like _private_ things."

I gulp. "In bed, you mean?" I'm really not prepared to discuss our intimate encounters more than twenty years later, especially not with the woman I really love.

Louisa shakes her head. "Didn't you ever go out?"

"What for?" I really don't see any point in that.

"And that was OK for her?"

"She could go wherever she liked to go."

"Alone?"

"Yes – or with friends."

"And she never asked you to come with her?"

"She knew I didn't like it then – and I don't like it now."

"So you never decided anything together?"

"No. What for? We knew what we wanted."

Louisa seems annoyed, and I'm worried. She looks around, avoiding me, and I'm growing more and more nervous.

As she keeps silent, I finally have to find out what she expects.

"You know how different our views are on many things – how can you expect us to agree on the solutions you like?"

She turns her head and looks at me fully. "That's just the point, Martin! To _agree_ on something we _both_ can accept."

"Like your choice."

"No, you've never heard of the habit of couples sitting down, giving their opinion on something, talking about the pros and cons, and then – sometimes – end up with a solution no one had ever thought of before alone, but presents as a _compromise_ of both opinions?"

I think for a moment. Somehow it sounds familiar. I think I had heard something like this before, way back in school. I didn't understood it really back then, either. It was a subject I never liked, but which one was it? Religious Education? Social studies? PoliSci?

Now I've got it! The claptrap we had to learn in philosophy!

"Like Hegel's dialectic?" I ask.

Louisa looks at me, completely shell-shocked, it seems. "What?"

Doesn't she know the concept? I think I can remember.

"To start with, you have a thesis, whose internal contradictions create an antithesis. In discussing the flaws of both positions, you come to a synthesis, combining the strong points of both theses."

Louisa looks annoyed at me again, but finally her face softens a bit.

"Uh, yes, Martin, in fact a bit like that, really. But it's not necessarily Hegel, you know?"

"Yes, it is." I'm pretty sure I got that right.

"Ehm, well, you know – what I mean – it's just normal human behaviour. You don't need some philosophical system for that."

I look at her and try to understand. Actually, I never understood this concept, really. Just because someone says the exact opposite, there's no reason to suspect your position that you know it's correct, has to be questioned. Either the other one realises he's wrong, or he will believe whatever misbelieves he chooses to follow.

"You've never experienced anything like it?" She probes me.

"Uhm…really…actually…"

"No." She finishes sadly.

I feel that I've disappointed her again. I feel obliged to make it up to her.

"Sorry." I mutter, although I don't really know what for.

"No, Martin, I'm sorry for _you_." Now I look at her astonished. "You should have learned it by now. It is a bit late now…" she looks at me, and I feel under observation, "…not too late? Maybe?"

I don't know. I can't answer that.

"If we work together? Maybe you could…learn?"

I remember a couple of weeks back, when I took our new-born son from her because she expected it from me, and she probed me if I could learn to be good with children. I promised it – and I suppose I didn't do too badly. Maybe?

"Maybe I could?" I repeat the promise I made a few weeks back. I'm rewarded in the same way, as Louisa beams at me.

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Unfortunately, her face darkens after a few minutes.

I grow uncomfortable. I need to do _something_ to distract me. I get up to clear the table, now that breakfast is finished.

"Don't you dare run away! We haven't finished, yet!" She shouts at me. "You really think one promise like that and you're off the hook?"

I didn't even realise that I was hooked. I just nod towards the table. "The dishes…"

"…can wait." She finishes the sentence for me, not entirely what I wanted to say.

I sit down again.

"Better." She states contented. She eyes me up and I get uncomfortable.

The silence endures, and I'm completely unsure about the situation.

"You do trust my guidance, then?" She asks, and I _am_ completely honest when I answer: "Of course I do."

She looks sceptically. "But maybe I don't." She replies, which takes me unawares.

"What?" I ask incredulously.

She leans over, and covers my hands with hers.

"I don't know if I can be fair. To you, that is."

I look into her lovely eyes and feel the tingling she sends through my body whenever she touches me.

"See, Martin, I'm just afraid I may push you too far. I don't want to turn you into something you're not. Just, well, refining – let's say – some of your hidden qualities. And I really think there is something nice – really nice – under that gruff surface. I'm just afraid I might get carried away and drive you too far."

Her soft voice and touch make me melt away. I am prepared to agree to anything now.

"Maybe we should try couple therapy? What do you think?"

_Almost_ anything.

I'm shocked. She can't mean that? Then I remember the pleasure she takes in teasing me. I muster all of my self-control to produce something like a smile and lean forward.

"You're joking?" I ask hopefully, but Louisa leans back and lets my hand go.

"Actually, I wasn't I thought it was a good idea." I stare at her like a moron. She can't really mean that? "Or maybe not?" She adds.

"You can't really expect _me_ to go to some of those quacks with all their psycho-babble?" I ask incredulously.

"Maybe not." She mutters. I sigh. _That _really would take it a step too far. Louisa looks at me, still not happy. Obviously, she thinks about something.

I watch her watching me, but don't dare to get up to do something useful, because I don't want to upset her again.

After a very long time, I think, she looks straight at me and says: "Then you've got to promise me something."

"What?" I ask and I realise my brows are furrowed.

"If you feel uncomfortable about something – really uncomfortable I mean – you've got to tell me. Right?"

"Right?"

"No Martin, I really mean it."

"Yes?" I can't imagine how much I will have to complain, and which rows that will provoke.

"Martin, you do realise I will push you…drag you out of your comfort zone?"

Actually, I _did _realise that, but I also realised that I didn't have a choice. I need her like I need the air to breathe. Like I need James Henry, too.

"Yes." I confirm.

"I don't want you to be unhappy, but the way it was it can't go on, because I felt…" Louisa falls silent.

I remember her comment when her mother went on a date, and I suggest "…stuck?"

Louisa bites her lip and looks down, but just for a moment. When she looks up again, she still looks worried. "That was a cruel thing to say."

"No! I mean…if that's how you…feel?"

"No…really. I shouldn't have. I felt guilty the moment I said it. I just spoke without thinking."

"That's OK. I understand."

"No, Martin! Don't!"

"What?" Now I'm completely confused. What did I do now? I try to understand her as well as I can!

"Don't defend this. It _was_ wrong!"

"I can understand. I am…difficult?"

"Yes, Martin, you are, but I knew that to start with."

"Oh?"

"Sorry, Martin, but I really meant that."

I don't know why I am so difficult. I say what I mean. I have simple needs. What could be so difficult?

"So…what …about it…then?"

"Well, I sort of hoped you might learn to be less difficult, and maybe I can learn to live with the rest?"

"Right?"

"Is it? Is it really alright for you? I mean – I want you to be happy, too?"

What a strange thought. I never saw myself as happy – or unhappy. Aunty Joan had accused me of being _miserable_. Morwenna insisted that I should at least smile when asking for a favour, and now Louisa wants me to be _happy_. I never thought of life that way. There are things in life that you don't need, and then you'd better stay away from them. Then there are other things you need to live – air, food, drink, and strangely enough being with Louisa and James has become just an equally important urge. You have to ensure that, to be able to function. But _happy_?

Maybe Louisa can read my mind, because suddenly she says: "You've never been happy, or have you?"

"I…uhm…" I don't know if she's talking about the same thing as I am – quiet, uninterrupted evenings with a well brewed coffee and a stimulating article in a medical journal. Would that qualify as _happy_ in Louisa's book?

"It was so sad seeing your photos."

"I was a child then." I say. They don't matter anymore. It's a thing of the past.

"Exactly, Martin. That's the worst thing about it!"

"I wish you'd never seen them. They don't mean anything." I try to explain. I mean, why would anyone want to know how someone had looked decades earlier. Joan really should have thrown them away. I would have done so, if Louisa hadn't insisted on keeping them. Now she holds them against me.

"I found them quite enlightening. I didn't like what I saw, but it made sense."

I don't know what kind of sense these photos should make. I didn't know then, I don't know now. Strangely enough, photos of mine seem to pop up everywhere lately – on Joan's bedside table, in Joan's barn, and most worrisome of all, in Mrs. Tishell's cupboard.

I still wish I hadn't seen any of them, as they were connected with feelings of sadness, embarrassment and panic.

Fox Talbot should be shot – if he hadn't been dead for over a century now.

"Was that what you meant when you said yesterday that James Henry wouldn't be like you? And you wouldn't be like your father?"

"Uhm…" I'm embarrassed. It was perfectly normal yesterday to say it, but I wasn't thinking straight then, and I hadn't realised that it couldn't make any sense to Louisa. It made perfect sense to me, but there's no chance that Louisa would be able to make any sense of it.

"Was it your father who made your life miserable?"

"Sort of… not only." I think of my mother and what she told me the last time I saw her – ever! It seems she had more to do with it than Dad. He was just disappointed in me, she despised me thoroughly. If I hadn't been such a failure, I might have even won respect from Dad, but for Mum my pure existence was unbearable.

"What did your mother say?"

"Not much." I can't remember her talking to me a lot. She had never before been as quiet as during her stay at my surgery, but we hardly had ever had a _conversation_.

"But how could she watch you leave home when you weren't even seven years old?"

"She didn't. She was on holidays in South France."

Louisa nods, as if she did understand.

"And you spent your holidays on Joan's farm."

"Yes."

"Did your parents drive you down to Cornwall?"

"They…uhm…didn't like the countryside very much."

"So you went by train…alone?"

"Aunty Joan and Uncle Phil picked me up at Bodmin Parkway Station."

"So you went alone?"

"Mostly."

"How did you feel about it?"

I nod a bit, the head slightly tilted. "Fine."

"Don't tell me you thought it was perfectly alright that your parents…what?"

Actually, thinking about it, I was glad whenever I was ignored by my parents. They just paid attention to me when I failed to meet their expectations. So, being ignored meant I hadn't done anything to disappoint them.

"It was fine." And I truly meant it.

"You don't like your parents very much?"

I can't understand why this question is coming from her. Especially from her.

"Do you like yours?"

"Actually, Dad always was good to me."

I realise I raise an eyebrow, although I try to bite my tongue.

"Yes, I know – he has his faults."

Faults are good. Faults are very good given his record.

I keep quiet, but somehow that upsets her.

"Why, you of all people? You admit yourself that your parents aren't so hot! And at least Mum came down here and she was a great help."

"So you keep telling me." I can't help but to reply. I mean – this horrid misconstruction of a human being drugged our son, didn't show up to mind him and left him in the care of a juvenile criminal. It's not exactly what I call _great help_.

"In case you haven't noticed – _your_ parents ignored the birth of their grandson completely!"

"For the simple reason that I didn't inform them? I know that they are crap with children and I don't want them within one-hundred miles of our son!"

Louisa has fire in her eyes and is staring at me, and I fear the worst. I wait for her to explode, but she keeps quiet and starts biting her lip.

"I suppose I _was_ a bit biased about my Mum." She meekly adds, much to my surprise. "But I really wanted to have a family. A _real_ family."

"You had me." I try to make my point. I was – no, _am_ – truly hurt that she found it easier to contact her mother, who had abandoned her, than to contact me.

"Did I?"

"What do you mean? I was here. I still am."

"Yes, but you were so distant, you could have been on a different planet."

"I tried to do _everything_ for James and you."

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"No Martin, you didn't."

"Of course I did." I reply louder than I planned to, but really! What could I have done more? I'd fed, changed and burped James. I minded him when Louisa didn't have the time. I'd even skipped surgery one morning, when Louisa had her meeting. I'd done most of the shopping and cooking. I'd even slept in the car on the bloody moor, so that Louisa could catch up with some sleep. I couldn't think of _anything_ more I could have done.

Louisa is eyeing me up, calmly, analytically, and I feel like an insect under the microscope.

"Think again." is her quiet remark.

I sit there, still opposite her. I know she expects an answer, but as much as I let the last weeks replay in my mind, I can only think of one time that I had let her down.

"Sorry, Louisa, but I really couldn't look after James when your mother didn't turn up. My first patient had just arrived and…"

"Not that. Try again."

I'm defeated. There's only that one huge mistake I had made, but who could know that Mrs. Tishell was _that_ barmy.

"I never would have given James into the custody of Mrs. Tishell if I had known…"

"Not that either. And I don't want to hear _that_ name ever again."

"Oh?"

We sit opposite each other, like two boxers in their corners, and I don't know what is expected from me.

"You don't have any normal instincts, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"After all – you _are_ a man."

"Of course I am."

"And to think that we shared the same bed for weeks."

"And I respected your privacy" I answer, proud of my self-control.

"Was that what it was?"

I look at her in amazement.

"You'd better be kidding me, Martin Ellingham!" she scolds me.

"Of course not. Women often develop coitophobia after birth, especially when the relationship with the father is a bit…let us say…difficult."

"And you assumed I showed signs of this coito…thing?"

"Coitophobia." I correct her.

"Yes, yes. I know what it means. And you thought I had it?"

"Perfectly understandable." Actually, I had given it a lot of thought, and it was the only plausible explanation for our….let's say…_strained_ relationship."

"And you're probably pretty proud of your immense understanding."

"That's perfectly alright. Nothing to be proud of. I mean…I would never…."

"…touch me."

"Not if you are in…uhm….a _delicate_ state."

She shakes her head, but she is definitely smiling at me. Again, we keep quiet for a frighteningly long time. I don't know how to break the silence, because it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Nothing to brag about.

"Oh Martin! I was in no _state_ that a simple hug and kiss couldn't have fixed!"

"That's why you needed your mother?"

She keeps shaking her head.

"From _you,_ you idiot!"

Now it's my turn to stare like an idiot.

"I…what?"

"Bloody heck! You buttoned yourself up in those blue pyjamas of yours, so that no skin could possibly be shown, you stayed on your side of the bed as if there was an electronic barrier between us, you turned away when I started breastfeeding and the only…the _very_ only time you ever touched me during those weeks was when I was disappointed in my mother, and you stroked my cheek!"

"You did _not_ respond to the kiss I gave you to say goodbye, you did _not _respond to me holding your hand during the funeral, and you even called me _fat_!"

"I did not!"

"When you hid my digestive biscuits!"

"I did _not!_"

"You told me to lose a few pounds!"

"That's absolutely normal after a pregnancy. And choco-digestives don't help!"

Louisa wants to respond, but I can see that she stops herself and rubs her forehead and nose nervously.

"We'll come to that later." She finally declares. "First I've got to get one thing clear – once and for all. Do you still find me attractive?"

"Absolutely!" I declare with more gusto than would be decent, I'm afraid.

"But when I asked you how I looked when I went out, you just said '_flushed'_."

"You did. Look flushed, I mean."

"Martin, if I ask you how I look, I don't want a medical check-up."

"Oh?"

"Gosh, you're really hopeless!" I would be more concerned if she wouldn't be laughing while she's saying it. "Did no one ever tell you that women normally want to hear that they look nice, when they ask something like that?"

"What's the point?"

"The _point _is that it is nice to hear from the man…you love…", she looks down to her hands while she's saying it, obviously embarrassed about this confession, "…that he still finds you attractive. So if you'd said '_You look nice_', it would have been highly appreciated."

"But you always do." I can't see the point in stating the obvious. I mean, I don't walk around telling people which eye colour they have, and looking lovely is just as much a part of Louisa as it is for me to have blue eyes.

"No one looks _always_ nice."

"You do."

She looks down and plays with a strand of her hair. I can't help but feel that I said the right thing for once.

"That was nice, Martin," I sigh, but now she lifts her head and looks me straight in the eye, "but why can't you say so, then?"

"There's no point in stating the obvious."

"But can't you just do it? For me, maybe?"

"Uhm…," I know I will feel stupid when I run around telling her that she looks nice, and I really can't see why that should make any difference. She knows now that I find her attractive. I just told her that she always looks nice to me. So why does she need reassurance all the time? She isn't that insecure? On the other hand – what would it cost just to tell her when she wants to hear it?

"...when do I have to say it?"

"You don't have to say anything, if that's too much trouble. But if you can bring yourself to do the customary thing, generally if the woman asks '_How do I look?_', the man answers with '_You look nice_.', possibly accompanied by a little kiss."

"If you want to outdo yourself, you could even say in the morning '_You look very nice today.'_, and that may earn you a little kiss."

"I see." I answer slowly. That doesn't seem too complicated. I hope I can manage that.

"And while we are talking about hugs and kisses – I am sick and tired of having you navigate around me, making sure to avoid any body contact, as if I was an obstacle that has to be avoided."

"I just wanted to give you space."

"Vacuum is more like it."

"What do you mean?"

"I felt an unbearable emptiness. An isolation that suffocated me. The only one I could talk to and whom I could touch was James Henry. It was this emotional vacuum that drove me away. I simply can't live without any interpersonal relations."

"Oh." I try to understand what she is saying. I don't really.

Louisa looks over, eyeing me up critically.

"James and I can't always be in danger, just for you to finally say some nice things."

I remember the panic after Louisa's accident and the terror seeing James Henry in the hands of the drugged pharmacist. Words had come up like the vile in my throat when seeing or smelling blood. I had been unable choke them back.

"You've got no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Uhm…not really."

"Didn't you miss anything the last weeks?"

I think about it. To be honest, the time when Louisa was living with me was the most perfect time of my life. To ask for more would be cocky. Just watching Louisa cuddling our son from the other side of the bed, observing them without disturbing this peaceful scene, fully aware that this is _my_ little family, seeing the love _my_ son receives gave me warm tingling inside I had never known. I was completely content in those moments, and I looked forward to the privacy of our bedroom the whole day. It even made the stupid villagers bearable.

I shake my head.

"So you would have lived that way happily ever after."

I nod.

"You wouldn't have changed _anything_?"

"Like what?"

"I mean, don't you ever have the impulse to touch me, to kiss me – something like that?"

Oh, _that's _what she means! What does she take me for? A rock, or something? Of course I do have those urges, but I learned self-control.

"I didn't find it…appropriate."

"But you did find it _appropriate_ this morning?"

"Well, pardon me! If I recall exactly it was _you_ who made pretty straightforward advances."

"Exactly, because if I'd waited for you, I would have grown old and grey! You never even made the slightest move!"

"So it's me again? I can't remember _you_ being…uhm…close, I mean, either!"

"So why do _I_ always have to be amorous? Don't you think I'd like to be seduced now and then?"

"Uh…uhm…." I clear my throat uncomfortably. I hate discussions about such subjects.

"By the way, Martin – is there a male equivalent of coitophobia?"

"The gender-neutral expression is genophobia or erotophobia. Why do you ask?"

She looks across to me with raised eyebrows, and the longer I feel her scrutinising eye upon me, I have a rather unsettling suspicion.

"You don't mean…you can't possibly think!" This assumption is outrageous!

"Well, come to think of it – your fear of intimacy is rather alarming."

Here it is again. The same accusation Edith made. I gladly took it from Edith, because the night before I outright rejected her, and to be honest, I didn't feel the slightest desire to be with _her_. I don't tolerate this accusation from the woman I made love to earlier, and whom I do desire more than I feel comfortable with.

"Just because I don't jump on you like a stag on heat doesn't mean…." I gasp. "I _am_ perfectly capable of applying some basic self-control."

"Martin, do me one huge favour – don't control yourself so well in future."

"You mean…I should…?"

"No, Martin, it's not that you _should_ initiate some physical contact, I _expect_ it from you."

I'm shell-shocked. I'd learned all my life to repress these notions. Louisa must sense my utter shock.

"Maybe we can start slowly. For the time being – and _only _for the time being – I don't expect you to show affection outside our home. It's OK for you to get used to it in private."

"But I expect _every day_ that you kiss me and hug me without waiting for my permission. Just when you feel like it."

That's a good one '_When I feel like it_'. If I had my wicked ways with her, I wouldn't take my hands off her at all.

She obviously sees my doubts, but misinterprets them.

"You _do_ feel like touching me at least sometimes or…"

"Oh Louisa, of course I do…" I couldn't help but whisper. Her face lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Good, there's still hope for you, then."

She repositions her chair so that we sit next to each other. "When we sit together," she whispers, "you can also place your hand around my shoulders." She guides my hand to demonstrate what she means. "Or maybe you would rather put them on my legs? Hm?" She takes my hand and puts it on her thigh. Slowly she guides my hand higher, and I feel incredibly hot. My heart is racing. I hear nothing but my blood streaming through my ears. My self-control falters and I start rubbing and squeezing Louisa's thigh.

From afar, I hear Louisa's approving voice. "That's more like it. It seems you've had it in you all the time."

I tear my hand away and look at her breathlessly.

"And to get this straight." She continues to order me around, but I'm her slave and I will obey.

"I don't want to see those blue pyjamas anymore – especially not buttoned up. And if we are to share a bed, then I _demand_ some contact between us. Sleeping with each on his side is ridiculous!"

I will _gladly_ obey.

"Oh Louisa, I had no idea…"

"…no idea that I wanted a real relationship. Why else would I have moved in with you?"

Why indeed.

_To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Well, maybe we can practise a bit." Louisa tells me with a mischievous smile. She gets up and drags me upward with the hand she's still holding.

We are standing in my kitchen opposite each other, and I'm not quite sure what she wants.

She looks provocatively up to me.

"So?" She asks.

"So – what?" I reply, knowing that whatever I do I run a high risk of doing the wrong thing.

She takes my hand and places it on her waist, and now I realise what is expected, and I place my other hand at the small of her back.

She snuggles closer against my chest. If she expects me to do _that_ daily, then I'm the last one to complain.

I remove my hand from her waist and put it around her shoulder, drawing her closer. Without really realising it I start to rock her gently, to some unknown symphony.

I could stay like this forever, especially when I hear Louisa's contented sigh.

"You still think I should lose some pounds?" I suddenly crush onto the firm ground of reality.

"All I was trying to say was that habits formed in pregnancy are difficult to get rid of."

She draws back a bit and peeks upward at me. "But maybe I don't _want_ to get rid of that habit?"

I don't understand. What could possibly be desirable in indulging empty calories and high-fat produce?

"But why?"

"I know you don't need any sweets…"

"No one _needs_ sweets. They are just an unhealthy habit, like smoking or drinking…."

"That's not true, Martin. You must know that chocolates raise the serotonin levels and increases the level of happiness."

"Nonsense! A good walk over the cliffs would do the same."

"Not for me. Martin, I'm no child."

"Of course you're not!"

"And I won't tolerate that things I buy for myself are hidden from me."

"It was just for your own good."

"You've got to leave that to me, what's for my own good."

I see that I won't convince her with this tactic, but this point is important to me. I saw too many ruining their health by the wrong lifestyle. I feel obliged to protect her.

"But we have to be a good example for James Henry." If she doesn't see that she is harming herself, maybe protection of our son might bring her to her senses.

"Yes, we have."

I sigh relieved.

"But do you really think you can keep him off sweets all his life – or at least for all his childhood?"

"I can try."

"He will see soon that other children are eating ice-creams, chocolate, sweets of all sorts."

"The more important it'll be for him to see optimal eating behaviour at home."

"No, Martin. It is important that he doesn't get curious. I've seen several children who were forbidden any sweets from their parents…"

"Good." I didn't expect so much sense in this backwater.

"Well, not really. Whenever their parents were out of sight, they stuffed themselves with sweets. Some even stole them from their schoolmates, as they didn't want their parents to find out that they had bought some."

"James will know that he shouldn't steal!" How can she assume that our son will develop into a lying, scheming, stealing sod!

"You'll never know. If he doesn't dare to ask for something he likes?"

"How would he know he _likes_ sweets if he never gets any?"

"It'll just enhance his curiosity. Don't you think it would be far better if he sees us consuming these things moderately?"

"No, it wouldn't."

"Martin, remember. I _am_ a teacher, I know about children. The best thing would be for us to be a good example in handling this responsibly, without triggering his curiosity, without making it an alluring _forbidden fruit_, but to allow him the possibility to address his wishes openly."

I clear my throat. My change of tactics had backfired on me. I feel I am in a trap I can't escape. I still don't see the sense in eating unnecessary calories.

Louisa rubs my chest and places a light kiss on my cheek. I can't help but feel that she wants to twist me around her little finger.

"The intake of calories is not the only factor relevant for a healthy body mass index, is it?"

"Of course, there are several parameters participating – the uptake of calories is one factor, but there's also how much energy you need during the day. The latter is influenced by genetic influences as well as life-style, mainly doing exercise."

"That's what I mean. It wouldn't do any harm, when James is a bit older, to give him a little ice-cream after we've had a _long_ walk? As a reward, maybe?"

"I still don't see the point…"

She puts her finger on my mouth and I keep it shut.

"And don't you think that this morning we used up the energy equivalent of at least _three_ chocolate digestives?"

I hardly have to calculate to be able to confirm this equation. However, I can't see why the one should justify the other.

"So, you gruff puritan, don't you think you've helped me to lose more weight this morning – quite pleasurably – than you did by hiding the chocolate digestives in a mean way?"

"I…uhm…"

"What I'm saying is – I do need some sweets now and then. I've got a bit of a sweet tooth. Guilty there. And I don't _intend_ to do without it."

I growl. Really, I expected better of her.

"If you like it or not – I'm not willing to discuss it. However, _maybe_ I can soften the blow for you by offering you to support me with my _exercise_ in order to get rid of the extra energy. Hm?"

She nudges my chest with her chin, and I think I do understand the offer.

"Oh, really, Louisa. It's just empty calories. I really don't understand…"

"You don't have to understand. Just accept, maybe?"

She nudges me again, and I realise that she won't give in, however stupid that is.

"Is there _anything_ I can do to convince you…"

"Nothing whatsoever."

She obviously declares this conversation as finished. Do I have a choice?

"Alright, then. I won't hide your biscuits ever again."

"Glad you…"

"…but," I interrupt her, "I will _never_ buy them for you, and try to eat them when James can't see you."

"You make me sound like some drug addict."

"The way chocolate works in the brain is basically quite similar…"

"Alright, Martin, I don't think I actually want to hear it. Don't worry – I'll have my supply ready, as long as you're not interfering."

I grumble "I still think…"

"Don't!" She says, giving me a peck on the lips. "You do too much of it anyway, but _if _you have to think of something, then maybe you can think of the exercise we can do together."

She snuggles close again, and I kiss the tip of her head.

My life will change, and it's not just the daily routine. She made me compromise on my principles. Something no one else has ever done before.

I try hard to concentrate on what I may gain. I try to concentrate on the panic I had felt when I thought I might lose either of them – Louisa in the car crash, James Henry by Mrs. Tishell's barmy kidnapping.

I remind myself that having a family – something I never thought I might ever have – is worth those sacrifices. However, I'm still scared about what she might expect next.

"Well, Martin, I think that's it – for the moment. What do you say?"

"Right."

"Remember?" She scolds me, and her first demand comes to my mind. I swallow, trying to gain time to find filling phrases for what I'd like to say. Until now, my speech was for transporting information as economically as possible. I've got to learn to add stupid fillers.

I breathe in deeply before answering. "Alright, Louisa, I think I can learn, at least I will try."

I'm exhausted. It is so darn difficult to form whole sentences if one word would say the same, but my effort doesn't go unnoticed.

"Very good, Martin. There is hope. And do you think you'll be able to live with that?"

"Ehm…I think I can learn."

"Good. That's really all for now. I think everything else will fall into place."

"Really? You haven't forgotten anything?"

There is one thing she hasn't mentioned, and to be honest, it is the one thing important to me. I really would like to make this one demand, but I'm scared to ask.

I don't want to ruin it again.

I watch her furrowing her brow. "No. No I don't think so."

However, for James Henry's sake I've got to take the risk.

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Just as if he had sensed it, James starts to stir. I walk over and check if he is alright. It seems his nappy is still OK, he was fed not long ago, and he doesn't seem hot or in any other way troubled. Probably he's just bored.

I pick him up and jiggle him a bit, as I've learned. I'm glad that he has claimed my attention, as I need him now.

"Uhm…Louisa…" I start clumsily, and I just hope that my world won't be shattered at the end of this discussion. "Actually, there is one thing more…that needs to be sorted."

"Really? Go ahead."

"What about James Henry?"

"What about him?"

"The care…I mean." Now I said it, and internally I prepare myself for a blow.

I can see that my fears hadn't been without reason. I see thunderstorms clouding Louisa's face and she seems in the right fighting mood immediately.

"Martin, how often do I have to tell you – I will _not_ stop working!"

"I realised that."

"Good for you!"

"I mean – it's just, we _have_ to sort out who will be minding him."

"Sure, we'll find someone." Louisa doesn't seem to take this problem too seriously.

"_Someone?_ Like a juvenile criminal? Or an irresponsible, selfish relative?"

"Well, don't forget a dangerously infatuated, totally Bodmin certain _woman!_ That was a far better choice, well done!"

I gulp. I knew it wouldn't go down well, but we _have_ to find a solution in this matter. Wasn't that what she wanted – to talk about things?

"Louisa, this is _really_ important!"

"Oh, and the other things weren't? What was bothering me wasn't important?"

"That's not what I'm saying!" It seems whenever we try to talk, we are in fact shouting at each other. "But we can't keep on handing him from one to another! He deserves to have a home!"

"Oh, and that's why you kept on planning to go to London?"

"There _are_ homes in London – and besides, I just told you this morning that I'd be staying here!"

"Oh, right – I forgot! The _great sacrifice_!"

"Yes, it is!"

"So why won't you go to London and let us muddle through?"

"I don't want him to have to _muddle through_!"

"Dad and I always had to – didn't do me any harm."

"Right, but…" I pause to try to find the right words.

"But what, Martin?" She asks sharply.

I take a deep breath. "Look, Louisa, I listened patiently to every demand you had on me."

"How great of you." She is bursting with sarcasm.

"Not at all. It was quite informative. I didn't understand before why you were so unhappy, and I am grateful that I understand better now and can try to make…it better."

"In demanding that I should stay at home?"

"I wasn't saying that!"

"Oh!" She answers sheepishly, all of a sudden.

"I realise that you want to teach, even if I can't see the point. I could provide for a family easily, in case you were worried about that."

"No, I wasn't. I've _always_ provided for myself, I don't intend to stop now."

"And I accept that." I force myself to say, not because I'm convinced, but because I have realised that it won't do any good arguing.

"Right…ehm…sorry. I assumed…OK. I'll see who has experience in minding babies, who can responsibly look after James while we work."

"Actually, I still think he should be looked after by his parents the first three to four years, at least."

"MARTIN!" She looks at me accusingly. "I told you before – if that's so important to you, _you_ can stay at home. You really have the most chauvinistic, old-fashioned…."

Before it really gets nasty, I decide to interrupt her. "Actually, Louisa – I thought about it, and maybe…well…it's…."

"Oh, great – another plan coming from brilliant Dr. Ellingham!"

"LOUISA!" now I shout at her, because her childish behaviour is really unworthy of her. "HOW THE HECK CAN WE DISCUSS OUR OPINIONS IF I CAN'T EVEN VERBLISE THEM!"

She looks at me shocked, and I realise I've shouted at her at the top of my voice.

I clear my throat uncomfortably, while James stares at me with his big blue eyes and starts to bawl.

"Congratulation, Martin", is Louisa's sneering remark, while I jiggle James and pat his back, trying to undo the damage I've done.

Maybe James is a better mediator than I could have imagined, because his crying gave both of us time to calm down.

When James is finally quiet again, Louisa looks over at me and says calmly: "I guess we'll have to find a permanent solution, especially now that Mum won't be around…" I suppress a moan, not that _she _had been any help "…and we'll be staying in Portwenn for good. Maybe you'd better tell me what you thought, and you're right – we can discuss it then."

Louisa sits down again and nods towards me.

I take a deep breath and make the offer I had thought long and hard about.

"See, I've been minded by paid carers during all of my childhood, and you don't get much love and attention from them. They would treat James as any other baby, because to them, he is. I don't want that for him. I meant what I said yesterday – he shall not be me."

"We _are_ parents now, and we have to face the consequences. Now, as I will be staying here as Portwenn's GP, I thought, maybe…", I know that now comes the tricky bit, and I give James a cuddle to assure myself why I am going through this ordeal, "…well, maybe I can open up surgery only during the afternoons, to be around in the mornings while you're at school, and you could work half days, during the mornings, and look after James in the afternoon." I release air, because that was the tricky bit. The nasty bit will follow, I'm sure.

"Martin, that's so chauv…"

"Don't tell me that this would be chauvinistic, too, as I'm just suggesting that you do the same as I'd do!"

"Ehm…right…but maybe it has escaped your attention that _I_ am the head teacher. How do you think I can teach and do all the administrative stuff working just in the mornings?"

"Then…maybe you can just teach?"

"But I _am_ the head teacher!"

"Yes, and I am head of vascular surgery – or _was, _before I realised that it isn't compatible with being a father!"

She looks at me shocked, but doesn't say a word. For a long time, that is.

"Maybe you think it is nothing, but I _really_ worked hard to become head teacher."

"Yes, and I just waited around to be asked, because there would be no one else who wanted to be head of department at one of the most prestigious London hospitals."

I can't help to be sarcastic.

She keeps looking at me and continues after a long pause.

"I knew there'd be a catch when you offered to stay in Portwenn. Now you think you can blackmail me."

"That is nonsense, Louisa, I'm far from wanting to do any such thing – but…" and I hold James Henry towards her, "…_he_ needs us!"

She looks at our son, or maybe at me, with a serious expression.

"Louisa?" I urge her. "It was your decision to have the baby – now we have to care for him!"

"So it was _my _decision."

"Yes, it was."

"You'd probably have had him aborted."

"No?" I've got the feeling she just wants to distract me.

"But suddenly it's just me who is responsible for his existence!"

"When you informed me, the decision was made. Legally, there was no other option than to keep him." I informed her matter-of-factly. I swallow down my hurt that she didn't inform me earlier. I still haven't forgiven her completely for keeping me in the dark about her pregnancy for so long.

"How unlucky for you."

I cuddle James close. "No, Louisa, I wouldn't do without him for anything in the world." I look at her. "Not even for the job at Imperial College." I managed to say this calmly.

She looks at us, biting her lip, quite obviously thinking.

"Are you saying that I'm selfish?" She asks. I don't know the answer. It seems to me, she hasn't fully realised the impact that this tiny human being will have on our lives. While my life was turned upside down the minute I burst into that pub, she'd tried to live as normally as possible since then. Maybe I just had to think more about this than she had.

"No, Louisa, you're a wonderful mother." And I mean it. I knew it the moment I saw her that she would make a lovely mother.

"It's just…I'm not sure I'm prepared to give up something, I've worked so hard to get."

I can see that the thought is overwhelming. I didn't come to this decision easily, but I had the advantage that I knew that I'd lose everything – Louisa _and_ James – if I wouldn't compromise on my career. I knew the emptiness I felt even in times when my career was thriving. The exhaustion and bustle of the job covered it sometimes, but looking back, it had been a rather sad existence.

"Maybe you can think about it? We can talk then about what to do."

She looks up at me. "I'm not saying I will give it up!"

"No, just think about it. Try to think what's best for James. When he is old enough, we both can go back working full time."

"But I wouldn't have the chance to be head teacher anymore."

"You've got the job three times now – I suppose it's safe to say, they'll give it to you a fourth time. You're the best they could get."

"Still, you want me to give it up."

I look at one of my hands, the other one supporting James. I think back at the wonders I did do with them. I think about the wonders I wanted to do with them.

"They said I had the Midas touch." I confess to her, what I had said to Roger Fenn several years earlier. "There was nothing I couldn't fix."

"Oh?"

"Robert – my old tutor – told me, people still do talk about me. Surgeons, that is. In London. And on international conferences. He wanted me back, despite his doubts about whether I had conquered my haemophobia. He said, it could have happened to anyone, even the best – and probably did."

Louisa looks at me quietly. I hope she doesn't think I want to boast about it.

"I always knew you're brilliant." She finally says quietly, and it sounds sincere to me.

"Well, you gave me something to think about." She continues. "I will do that. Can we let it rest for the moment – I'll tell you when I'm ready."

"Sure." I needed a whole night and more – many sleepless nights – to come to this point. It's only fair to give her time.

_To be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Louisa, don't think that I want to run away, or don't want to talk, or something…." I start clumsily. "…but I've got some administrative work that should be done. Considering that Aunt Ruth has invited us for lunch, I'd rather do it before we go." I ask for her permission tentatively. After all she said, I'm not sure how much I am allowed to do without asking her permission.

"Martin," she comes over and takes James from me, "go ahead and do what you've got to do. We talked enough for now, don't you think?"

Enough is not the way I'd put it. Far too much. As much as I love to have Louisa around, after all this talk I crave for my silent surgery, quietly updating patient notes and organising my practise. Now that I am staying for good, there's an awful lot to do.

I remember what she has told me, so I bend down and brush my lips against her cheek.

"Thank you." I whisper.

"That was good, Martin. Very good." She smiles at me.

I stroke my hand gently over James' head. I still can't understand why the feeling of his tufty hair calms me and the smile on his tiny face, clearly bearing marks of my physiognomy, makes the importance of the surgeon's job shrink in comparison.

There are many things I do not understand. There is just one thing I know for sure – this is what I want, maybe what I've always wanted. This is what makes me happy, more than I thought possible.

"Right." The sound of me clearing my throat brings me back to reality. "See you at noon, then. We should be on time for lunch at one o'clock."

"We'll try not to disturb you too much, won't we, James?" Louisa asks our son and jiggles him. He gurgles and I take that as a confirmation.

I go into my surgery. The heavy door closes behind me. I can hardly hear Louisa talking to our son as I did moments before. This door was chosen to protect patient confidentiality. It is reasonably sound-proof. I contemplate if I should leave it open, or at least let slightly ajar.

I lean my back against the door and try to catch the sounds of Louisa and James. My little family.

I've made my decision. I'm pushing myself away from the door and try to clear my head. After all, I've got work to do.

I sit down at my desk and stare at the door. I wonder how the two of them spend their time. Is Louisa talking our conversation over with James? Just to have someone to think aloud to?

I remember that she could more easily talk with him when she was about to go for her first day at school than with me. I was hurt when he got a kiss to say good-bye and I didn't.

Things will be different now, I assure myself, as I take up my fountain pen and take some papers that have to be filled.

I keep working for some time. Nothing but boring routine. I realise once more that 99% of my job here will be repeating the same hygiene and safety advice over and over again. I still can't and will never understand why people can't simply wash their hands regularly. I hate this job and the whole village.

I look up and stare at the door again. No, that's not true. Among all this rubbish in this disgusting backwater are two diamonds that shine out. They make it worth it to stay here.

I find myself staring at the door, rotating the fountain pen in my hand. I know what I've got to do. There are still some forms to fill in. There are some test results I should study more closely.

I keep thinking about our conversation. It had seemed endless, but basically, the essence is quite simple:

1) I've got to talk more, especially about things I'm planning to do.

I never did that before, so I will have to get used to it, but I'm sure I can manage. I should try and do my internal pondering aloud. Maybe that is an easy way to start.

2) Louisa insists on physical contact.

Given the hard time I had to control myself, for years, this should be easy to manage. I just hope she doesn't change her mind once she finds out that I'm not so difficult to bed. Not for her, anyhow.

3) She insists on ignoring my medical advice.

That will be hard to swallow. I know what harm unhealthy eating habits can cause and I want that neither for Louisa nor for James. Unless I wish to risk causing a major row, I have to watch silently. I'll have to find ways to ensure their health without making Louisa mad. Something to work on.

4) I will have to compromise on my privacy.

I'm not concerned about sharing the living space, I'm more concerned about sharing feelings and memories. It seems important to Louisa. I don't know why she wants to know about my past, but that's how it is. I've always buried it, deep inside. Maybe, if I tell her while we are lying next to each other, like this morning, maybe with the security and contentment her body gives me, maybe I can try then to tell her what she wants to hear.

5) I'll have to stay in Portwenn and be a GP for the rest of my life.

But do I really want to have that life as a surgeon again? Now, knowing that Louisa and James are waiting for me? Night shifts. Double or triple shifts. Coming home completely exhausted. Struggling with the NHS about what should be done and what shouldn't. Rushing from one bloody body to the next. What for? I don't have to prove myself. I did that, long ago. I still do it occasionally, when the health care in these backwaters are not adequate. Honestly, I don't care about what other people think about me. Just Louisa. Soon James. That'll do.

I told my father that it was rewarding to be responsible for the welfare of this community. Did I just say it to defend myself against my father? Not really. So why not trying making this the healthiest bloody backwater in the whole of England?

I keep staring at the door and replaying this morning. My life will be turned around completely. I'll have to change. My routine, which helped me through the days, will be disrupted. In total, I sum up, I will gain more than I'll lose. A lot more. Nothing I ever planned on having, but from the moment I barged into the pub on the moors, all my plans had fallen apart. I don't miss any of them.

There's a soft knock on the door, but I still sit in my chair, trying to get my life together. My new life.

There is that knock again, and I'm just about to growl '_Go away!_', when Louisa peeks in. Something else I've got to learn. Patience.

"Martin, are you finished? Time to go to the farm."

To be continued…


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

We sit at the farm around the kitchen table, Aunt Ruth, Louisa, James and I. OK, James is not sitting, but he is in his pram next to me.

It is still strange for me to come here and _not_ to find Auntie Joan rushing towards me, hugging me despite my best efforts to keep my distance. This place bears memories, far too many of them, and all are connected with Joan. I still feel a twist in my heart when I think of her.

Now my other aunt is sitting next to me. It seems somewhere someone is always popping up. My family never really let me go.

Right now, I wish more than ever that it was Joan sitting on that chair. I know Joan would have been delighted with what I am about to say. I also know Ruth probably will not.

"Do you want to come down to London with me?" I ask Aunt Ruth while eating.

"Are you finally heading down there to settle everything for your new job? Would be lovely to breathe some nice urban air again, with lots of carbon dioxide and all sorts of smells. After a few days down here, I can't stand the quietude any longer. Maybe I'll come with you. Are you moving definitely or just doing some preparations for the big move?"

"I've got to talk to Robert."

"Organising your schedule?"

"Uhm, actually, I have to get something clear."

"Problems?"

"Not really. It's just that I don't know if my replacement can take over or if I have to fill in for a time." I tried to say it as casually as possible. Although I managed to keep my voice steady, I can't help but take a peek to gauge her reaction.

She had stopped her fork halfway to her mouth and stares at me. Then she lets the cutlery sink onto the plate with a distinct noise.

"Fill in? I gathered you had that job for good?"

"Thing is, I've decided against it." Now she looks at me in sheer horror.

"You're joking? Oh, no, you're not. You have absolutely no sense of humour. Or is there something in the water here that makes everyone barmy?"

"The water is fine. I learned that early on. Never criticise the water."

"Then it's the air, or the permanent wind or some nasty parasites spread by the seagulls and destroying the brains! You can't be serious!"

"You heard what I said yesterday." I don't intend to repeat my sermon. It's bad enough that I have to bare my soul to Louisa, but I certainly won't extend it to anyone else.

Aunt Ruth leans forward and points her knife towards me.

"You feel you've committed yourself. I know you were always ridiculously trustworthy. I know you keep your promises with admirable reliability, but even _you_ have to admit that yesterday's circumstances were exceptional. Don't feel committed because of what you had said in the heat of the moment!"

"I said it and I meant it."

"Come on, Martin. Don't tell me you want to play doctor in this tiny village for the rest of your days when you can make yourself a household name in surgery again. That is where you belong."

"You're forgetting something."

"Like what?"

"I have responsibilities now."

"Even she must understand that you can't let this opportunity pass you by!"

"_She_ has a name." I remind her sternly. I can understand that my aunt has to digest this information, but that's no reason for her to forget her manners.

"Alright, Louisa, you do understand that Martin simply has to take this job. Am I right, Louisa?" My aunt looks demonstratively at Louisa while asking this rather rhetoric question. I can see that Louisa is boiling with anger.

"Actually, you two agree completely in this point. It's me you've got to convince." I look at her provocatively. I know she is certain that Louisa is behind all this. If she just knew how much I had to convince her that I was serious about staying in Portwenn.

"You're not serious? Now that you can practise _real_ medicine again after all this…." She moves her fork vaguely in the air.

Now it's Louisa's turn to explode.

"What's wrong with Martin's job down here?"

"Look, you might think that he is doing a fine job here, but honestly, everyone can be a GP in the backwaters. I could teach James Henry here and in three years he can give the same health advice and throw out antibiotics as well as any common GP. Martin is extremely gifted. I know it's difficult for you to imagine, but he can make it right to the top. Martin could even outdo his father, if he plays his cards right. And goodness knows, his father would _really_ deserve that."

"For a change, it seems Martin has all the trumps in his hand. We are not talking about prescribing dehydration salts when someone gets the runs, we are talking about advanced medicine, maybe things no one has ever done before. He could become the most important Ellingham in the history of English surgery. What am I saying? Maybe even worldwide surgery!"

"You can't honestly expect him to give all this up just to stay here with you and the baby? I can assure you, with his salary he can afford the best nanny there is in the whole of the UK."

"Actually, I don't expect him to do anything! He can…" Louisa starts and if I learned one thing over the years then that: If Louisa gets going, no one can possibly stop her. The situation between my aunt and Louisa can hardly be much worse, but I don't want to risk that. So I try tentatively to stop Louisa.

"Aunt Ruth, I can assure you. Louisa's got nothing to do with it. It is my decision."

"Are you just as mad as the poor deranged woman we got into the sanatorium yesterday?"

"Is it so unusual to want a family? Most people do. I just realised I want to stay here with Louisa and my son more than making my name in surgery, especially as I don't give a hoot about what they are thinking of me."

"I was always wondering."

"About what?"

"You always seemed so above normal male urges. You never brought anyone home. You always seemed to be married to your job. I've often seen cases like that."

"Cases?" I look at her with raised eyebrows.

"Middle-aged men feeling that life had passed them by and suddenly developing a delusion of some sort. Many turn to younger women, trying to catch up with what they've missed. Thinking they were teenagers again, especially when they never acted like one. These follies are to be done when you are young. To whom they come later in life, they usually get it bad."

Ruth puts her hand on my sleeve in the most unpleasantly patronising manner.

"Trust me, Martin, it never works out. It never lasts for long. As soon as the novelty wears off and the exciting feeling of doing something out of character subsides, you'll soon lose interest. If you'll let the London job slip through your fingers, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. There is only this one opportunity to become head of vascular surgery for you. Don't take it the wrong way, but with the money you'll be earning, you can get yourself all sorts of younger women to keep you satisfied. You don't have to rely on her. And if you pay for your amusement, it's easier to get rid of the women again."

I gasp. This assumption is outrageous. It's quite obvious that Ruth has spent far too much time analysing the sick minds of psychotic criminals. I always thought I had a bad opinion of people in general, but she beats me.

I am too shocked to answer and I realise that I stare at her with my mouth wide open. Before I can react, I hear Louisa shout at my aunt.

"Are you suggesting Martin is going through a midlife crisis? You hardly know him, you phoned him occasionally on Christmas and haven't seen him for years, but you've got the nerve to sit here, belittling his job – which, by the way, extends to far more than simple prescriptions, he's saved many lives down here – and accusing him of being out of his mind just because he found someone, _finally_ found someone! Love is no delusion and if you find someone you love, you have to follow your heart!"

"Just what the poor deranged pharmacist thought."

"She had taken the wrong medication. She was not responsible for her actions."

"Exactly my point."

I sit there and watch this conversation, Aunt Ruth with her analytical mind calmly dissecting my feelings in front of Louisa's furious eyes until nothing but a pathological compensation for frustration remains.

"So what are you saying? That Martin is mad?" Louisa glowers over at me. I still haven't recovered from the turn this conversation has taken.

I can't help but think how different this conversation would have been if Joan would be sitting on this chair. I'm certain she would have been overwhelmed with joy. Somehow, there are always the wrong people I have to bring news to.

When I finally had the London job and told Joan, she could barely cover her disappointment that I would be leaving Portwenn, more importantly leaving Louisa and our child.

Now the tide has turned, and I tell my aunt that I am _not_ taking the London job but staying in Portwenn, but now it's a different aunt and this one doesn't even bother to try to appear happy for me. She hates this news and is not afraid to show it. I know I have to intervene before Louisa completely blows her top.

"You did see what the illusion of love can do to a normally completely decent and not even completely unintelligent person. They are not judging rationally anymore."

"Aunt Ruth," I feel the need to step in, "I can assure you that I thought long and hard about this decision, but it's the only possible choice."

"Bollocks! You just think you have to do the decent thing. That might be very noble of you, but in the long run you two are better off if you go to London and send a cheque regularly."

"I'm not. This is what I want." I declare and look over to Louisa, trying to assure her that I will not be convinced otherwise.

"So you're _madly in love_." Ruth sneers. "Just like Mrs. Tishell."

"How dare you! That is completely different!"

"What's so different about it? You both act irrationally due to a romantic delusion."

I gulp and have to gather my thoughts. How can I make it clear that there _is _a difference? There must be.

_To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Well, to start with, this is mutual, while Mrs. Tishell's affection, I can assure you, was not reciprocated."

"That's of no difference to the one under the spell."

"Right." I think again and then I _do_ realise what the biggest difference is. "But Mrs. Tishell used every means she could think of to force her infatuation on the subject of her delusion, me, while I try to help those whom I….uhm…" I clear my throat. Somehow I simply can't bring myself to say those four letters.

"…love." My aunt chimes in. She turns to Louisa. "It seems that if you want a declaration of love, you either have to hire a kidnapper or have to do it yourself."

I can see in Louisa's distraught face that Ruth has hit a sore spot. I curse myself that my formative years have formed such a horror to verbalise my feeling that it seems easier to hold my hand over an open flame than to say the things Louisa wants to hear. What good is it to talk, anyway?

I look towards Louisa apologetically. Louisa bites her lip, a sure sign that doubts are creeping in. I've got to say _something_ to save this situation. I can't say what Louisa wants to hear. I come up with the best I can muster.

"_If_ I'm going to tell anyone how I feel about Louisa, then I'll only tell her, not you. It is none of your business."

"Turning into Romeo at night. '_How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!_'"

I always thought idiots were hard to bear, but what's even worse is educated sarcasm.

How often have I cursed my mobile when it has interrupted my private time, now I practically beg it to ring, but for once in remains silent.

Thankfully, Louisa has composed herself quicker than I have and, surprisingly, is on my side. Or maybe she is just opposing Ruth.

"I don't want any Romeo. The only thing Romeo could do to prove his love was dying, bringing disaster to Juliet, too. Thank you, that's not for me!"

"Oh, I see. '_By their fruits you will easily recognize them.'_ Back to the bible. How romantic." Ruth sneers. Does this bloody woman know quotes for every situation in life? She's certainly spent too much time reading prose.

"Maybe it's not so romantic," Louisa continues, now in best fighting mood, "but it can last a lifetime. Romance? Soon the spark's gone, and what do you have? Look at the divorce rates! At least Martin is solid, dependable…"

Louisa pauses, probably unable to think of _anything_ else that could possibly be in my favour. Then she sighs and looks me full into the eye. "And he…tries…and…" she looks at me clearly desperate. "Oh, say _something_! Will you?"

"Uhm…uh…" I stutter. "Can you stop it; this is none of your business." I growl at Ruth.

"Oh Martin." Louisa sighs.

"The knight in shining armour just fell off the horse, it seems." Ruth smiles triumphantly at me, while Louisa looks disappointed.

Now, I definitely have had enough. "STOP talking as if this is a bloody fairy tale." I warn Ruth. "This is neither a play, nor a bad joke, nor…nor Grimm's bloody stories. This is MY life, and my life is nobody's business but Louisa's, James' and mine!"

"Uhh," Ruth is clearly amused, "little Marty is acting the big shot." She chuckles, just to turn serious at once.

"If you have to stand up for yourself for once, don't let _her_ ruin your life. If she thinks it's so important that you two should be together, why isn't she going to London with you? She can be a teacher anywhere."

"She offered. I didn't want her to." I reply brusquely.

"But _wh_y?" My aunt exclaims in disbelief. Now I really don't understand anything anymore.

"You reminded me yourself that Louisa most probably won't be very happy in London and I certainly don't want to leave Louisa or James Henry."

"You did?" Louisa asks my aunt intrigued.

Now it's my aunt's turn to be desperate. "Just to make it clear that you shouldn't stay together for James' sake. Staying together for the wrong reasons never did anyone any good. Least of all James."

"We're not." I state firmly while I look across the table to catch Louisa's reaction. She doesn't seem displeased, I'm relieved to notice.

"Oh Martin! I always took you for one of the more reasonable of our whole lot. You know what happens when any Ellingham tries to play family? You of all people should avoid making the same mistake."

"What do you mean?" Louisa asks, and I wish she hadn't.

"You'd better keep out of this, dear?"

"_Dear_?" Louisa clearly disapproves of the way Ruth is treating her, and rightly so.

"Stop talking to her like that!" I feel obliged to come to her rescue.

„Oh?"

„What do you mean '_Oh'_?"

„Did she manage to get you into that fancy little family illusion of hers?"

"What do _you _know about family?" I yell and, getting up quickly, my chair topples over. That in return causes James to bawl his lungs out. To quiet him down I vigorously pull at his pram.

"Just because none of the Ellinghams gave a toss about family doesn't mean I cannot make it."

"Martin, take my advice and stick to what you're good at. You're a brilliant surgeon. That means a lot. Don't try anything you're not good at."

"You are bloody sure of yourself, aren't you? You know _exactly_ that I will fail. But I won't. And I won't be a surgeon, just because my father and you and the whole bloody family tradition wants me to be one. It's time to decide for myself. James needs me, and I will be there for him."

"One thing's for sure, you don't do things by halves. The next thing you'll be telling me that you're going to stay at home playing full-time Dad."

This hits me by surprise. I look over to Louisa, uncomfortably because that is partly what we talked about earlier. Ruth makes it sounds as if the pure idea is ridiculous. I search in Louisa's eyes for approval that the idea isn't totally Bodmin.

Ruth picks up my glance and turns her face from me to Louisa and back again. Then she frowns and leans back, exasperated.

"Don't tell me…You must be bloody joking. You certainly can't be serious! I can't understand what's got into you. Louisa is good-looking, yes, but that's not worth throwing _everything_ away for!"

"I haven't, and I won't, and besides, in case you haven't noticed, I didn't ask for your permission."

I've really had enough of discussing my private life. I've spent most of my morning doing it with Louisa, and I can see the necessity in that, as she will be equally affected. I haven't got the slightest interest in repeating it with Ruth. It is none of her business.

"So you're not only throwing away your once-in-a-lifetime chance of doing some real medicine again, you…what...retire? You're a bit young for that."

"I won't retire. I'll keep on practising. Be assured."

Ruth exhales loudly. "Phew. That's a relief. You really got me, you know. I thought that shifty look of yours meant you would spend all your time with the baby."

"No, only the mornings."

"What?" Ruth exclaims. Looking at Louisa, she taps her forehead. "Clearly gone mad."

I grunt but have nothing to say.

"Do you really think changing nappies will satisfy you intellectually?"

"Can't be worse than the usual parade of malingers in my surgery."

"My point – that's why I still think you should go to London. Or is there another reason why you're not going?" She tilts her head and looks at me questioningly.

I am truly puzzled. I don't know what she's aiming at and I'm not sure if I really want to find out. I decide to ignore that question.

Obviously, Ruth takes this as an approval that her theory is correct.

"I was afraid so, but why can't you say so? In covering up, you just make it worse."

"I make what worse?"

"If your haemophobia isn't cured yet, we can work on it. I'm sure there will be a way to keep it in check. I'd gladly help you. And if you don't want to talk about it with me, I know a brilliant therapist in Truro. He's a bit young, but very good. I don't know why he isn't at one of the more prestigious colleges."

"Maybe personal reasons?" I sneer.

"I doubt that. However, Dr Milligan…"

"Oh no!" I groan. Not _him_ again!

"You know him?"

"I've come across most specialists in this region." I state. I don't want to admit that I've seen him as a patient.

"He is supposed to be brilliant. Work with him on your haemophobia."

"There is nothing to work on. I'm fine."

"Sure." Ruth sneers. "You rather admit you're a sentimental sucker than having an anxiety disorder. As long as you can't admit to it, you can never shake it."

"STOP analysing me. There is nothing wrong. Not anymore. I did operate on Eleanor."

"And you were fine?"

"Absolutely."

"And you didn't enjoy it."

"Absolutely not." I look into Louisa's eyes. It is her I want to convince.

_To be continued…_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"I give up." Ruth declares wearily. "You are as stubborn as any Ellingham. If you've really set your mind on playing family, I suppose there is nothing I can do but wait until this folly of yours subsides."

"It's no folly – and it won't subside."

"Come on, Martin. I'm sure you know what happened when your father decided he wanted to have a family."

"I don't know what you mean." I really don't want to discuss my parents. That's even worse than discussing my relationship with Louisa.

"As soon as my lovely brother got his own way in producing a child, his marriage was doomed. Before you came around, I really thought they were the perfect match. They always seemed so happy together. When you were out with them you always had to make sure they weren't at it too obviously. They couldn't keep their hands off each other."

"The moment you were there, your mother was tense, your father worked extra-hours all the time, just to have an excuse not to endure your wailing. You really were a horrid, strenuous child. I think your mother never forgave Christopher for his daft idea. I certainly never saw _any_ signs of affection between them ever again."

It seems everyone knew about the way my parents felt about me all the time. Only I still thought I may gain their affection and respect – until their fateful visit some years ago. As silly as it is, it still hurts.

"You'll end up like your father, looking at every skirt passing you by."

"I _will not_ be like my father!" I declare sternly. This is a horrid thought.

Just right now, James is starting to cry again. I pick him up and jiggle him.

"You certainly won't." Aunt Ruth confirms. "You still haven't managed to break James' habit of drawing attention. When you were at his age, your father had taught you for good that you shouldn't cry."

"By solitary confinement." I state with disgust.

"It worked just fine to stop your constant whining."

"By _what?_" Louisa exclaims visibly shocked.

"Solitary confinement. It means that you put a baby alone into a dark room when it starts to cry and leave it there until it stops."

"I know what it means, but it is widely regarded as psychological torture, even when applied to prisoners. It's no way to bring up a child!"

"My brother firmly believed there is no better method to keep a child from crying."

Louisa stares at me with eyes wide opened. "How old would you have been?"

"I can't remember when it started. Whenever I was misbehaving, I was shut under the stairs. For as long as I can remember."

Louisa still looks at me. "That's horrid."

"Don't get it wrong," my aunt chimes in, "when he was a baby, he was just put into a dark room, in his pram. Not under the stairs."

"Oh, that's so much better." Louisa says with clear sarcasm. "And you knew about this?" She confronts my aunt.

"Sure. My brother was quite proud to have found a method to put an end to Martin bawling his lungs out."

"And you didn't report it to social services?"

"What for? It was his child. He knew what was best."

"I thought you were a psychiatrist. You must know that even when used on adults, prisoners mostly, it is reported to cause psychoses."

"You're overreacting. Of course Martin wasn't shut away for days, just a few hours at maximum, until he learned to keep quiet."

Louisa looks at me, looks me deep into the eyes. I feel uncomfortable. I hate that she had to listen to that. She will draw the wrong conclusions. It wasn't half as bad as she obviously thinks it was. It gave me time to think about what I'd done wrong. Besides, it was some time that I could spend undisturbed, without the pressure of studying, without the pressure of behaving well. I could follow my thoughts wherever they took me. What's more, I guess I deserved it most of the time. I must have been a rather tiring child.

"It's alright." I say to assure her.

"No, Martin, it was far from being alright. If I should ever learn that something like that was being done to one of my pupils, I would take every action possible to get the social services to monitor the parents."

Louisa is up in arms and Ruth is obviously enjoying how easily she can upset Louisa. I sit between all chairs and don't know what to do.

"You must admit that by the way you are handling things, James is ruling you. He teaches you to jump when he cries. He teaches you to keep him entertained. You are teaching him nothing, so far, while my brother had already succeeded in teaching Martin a lot at that age."

What puzzles me is that every time someone compares me to Dad, I get the short end of the stick. I remember Mummy, who almost burst out laughing when I told her I'm not like Dad. In fact, I just wanted to assure her that she could talk to me if something was troubling her, but in spite of being in the process of divorce at that time, she made it abundantly clear that Dad was better looking, more charming and far more successful than I could dream of ever being.

Now Aunt Ruth criticises me because I'm not bringing up my son as well as my father had.

I simply don't get it. Am I really that horrible? Am I really worse than my father?

I've tried to live all my life according to my ethical standards. I've always tried to put my duty before my own needs. There are things that have to be done, and I've tried to do them – regardless of whether I liked to or not. I've often had an internal battle about what is right or wrong and tried to make the decision based on facts rather than on emotions.

What have I gained by acting in the best way that I could? People despise me, ridicule me, belittle me and even my loathsome father serves as my example.

While I'm still contemplating this, Louisa – brilliant, eloquent, lovely Louisa – gives Ruth a piece of her mind.

"I agree – James Henry has _not _learned to be quiet, has _not _learned to be afraid, has _not _learned to feel abandoned, has _not _learned a fear for his parents. I'm glad he hasn't!"

"What he _has _learned is to feel loved, feel secure, to trust his parents – both his mother _and_ father – feel protected and he has learned that he is a worthy human being, wanted and loved. He has learned that it is alright to have needs."

"I bet this is something no one in your family has ever learned."

"That will be of _much_ use to him later in life." Ruth sneers, bursting with sarcasm.

"Yes, because this is something he will learn now or never. He has to learn discipline, self-control and controlling his wishes soon enough. He has to learn how to deal with conflicts and he has to learn his dos and don'ts. He will learn his manners, but during all this, he has to know that he is loved."

"James has to realise that we are not just exercising our power over him if we forbid something, but that we deeply care about him and just have his best interests in mind. He has to develop this sense of basic trust now, so that he will know that we are acting in his best interest."

"To bring up a child takes patience…"

"A character trait Martin is famous for…" Ruth sneers.

"Yes," Louisa is practically shouting at her. "He has excelled in being patient with James. Thanks for your confidence in him."

"I can imagine your cosy little family, a homey idyll, with Martin as the patriarch. It must have been _very _pleasant, so pleasant that you had to move out after only a few weeks. How long will it last this time?"

I have to give Ruth credit for one thing – she has a talent for touching on sensitive issues. I suppose she learned that in her job. I see Louisa biting her lip, and this time I'm interested in the answer, too.

Louisa needs a moment to collect herself, before she answers meekly.

"I suppose I've been listening to the wrong people – again."

"Oh, I see. A woman's best friend."

"But that's over now."

"Until she turns up again."

"Now, I'm over her. I was just taken by surprise. Everything was a bit too much for me. Now I understand better, I think."

She looks at me and I nod, hoping she'll understand that I want to encourage her. I like how she is speaking up for me.

My aunt turns to me, again. "You can just hope that there are no other relatives of Louisa's lurking somewhere, or you might find yourself alone again – without the prospect of a good job."

"Could you please stop about that London job?" I'm really annoyed now that she keeps talking about it. "I'm done with that, and all your insinuations can't change anything about that. Get used to us as a family. Louisa, James and me. Like it or not."

I managed to say that calmly. I noticed that holding James has this effect on me. If I can cuddle him, the world seems to be a better place and less irritating.

Louisa just said that we have to give him the basic trust, but I sometimes think it's the other way around. I cuddle James demonstratively, who is still fussing, and I can see the disapproval on my aunt's face.

"Can't you make him stop? This whining gets on my nerves." Ruth complains.

"Sorry, but babies don't come with an on/off-switch." I reply dryly. I notice that Ruth is about to try the same trick as the last time we had breakfast together. Before she can utter a sound, I bark at her. "And don't you dare to shush him!"

"Uh. Well," Ruth states calmly now, "I think after this meal we will all have _something_ to digest."

"You'd better do that, and don't invite or visit us again before you've got used to us being a family." I look over to Louisa and she looks annoyed. James seems to sense that the atmosphere is more than just a bit tense, too, as my jiggling him doesn't have the desired effect. "I think we'd better go now. Louisa?"

"Yes, it's about time." She declares still angry.

"And Ruth – don't do that ever again. I don't want my family be exposed to such manners, especially not James."

_To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

I storm towards my car, holding James tight who is kicking his feet a bit. I just have to get out of here. It's suffocating. I can hardly believe that this place, which has always been a shelter and which is connected with so many pleasant memories, can turn into such a hostile place.

I grumble under my breath while I quickly cover the ground.

I want to get my son out of here. I reach the car and secure him in his seat.

Only now I notice that Louisa is approaching me, panting heavily. I suppose she had tried to keep up with me which was a bit strenuous for her. I've got to learn to be more considerate, even when I'm boiling with anger.

"What in heaven's name was _that_?" Louisa asks enervated.

"_That_ was an especially high dose of the Ellingham charm." I spat out.

"Was she really serious or was it some strange sense of humour."

I've finished securing James and turn around. "She was serious alright."

"That woman is outrageous! I disliked her the first time I saw her."

I suddenly feel a pang of guilt. I look at Louisa, who is flushed from her anger, and start to stutter. "Uhm, Louisa, I…I'm really…sorry."

"What are _you_ sorry about?"

"I shouldn't have exposed you to insults like that."

"Unless you could have known how this meal was going to turn out, you're hardly to blame, are you?"

"Uhm…but it's my aunt."

"What has that got with you! We are not responsible for our families, thank goodness."

"Maybe not, but she shouldn't have insulted you and James like that."

Strangely enough, Louisa's face softens when I say this. She lets out a deep sigh.

"Phew, at least no one can accuse this family of being boring." She says, looking around towards the farm. Then she turns back to me. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

I pat my various pockets…house keys, wallet, car keys – everything's there.

"No, I don't think so."

"No, Martin, I mean she was pretty ghastly to you, too."

"Oh, eh, alright."

"It is far from being alright." Louisa says energetically while getting into the car. I go to the driver's side and get in myself.

"No, really. She didn't point out anything new. Except, of course, her unacceptable comments about you and James."

Louisa leans back in her seat and watches me intensely.

"What?" I grow nervous.

"Thank you."

"What for?" I'm genuinely puzzled. This afternoon there wasn't much to be thankful for.

"For defending us. James and me."

"Oh, uhm…that's nothing." I feel myself blush.

"Thanks anyhow."

"Right."

The memory of this conversation and the Ellingham record in relationships is heavy on my soul. I lean back into the seat with a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong, Martin?" Louisa asks concerned, still looking at me intensely.

"She's got a point."

"In what way? Nothing she said made much sense to me. It sounded like a lot of…_bullshit_ …to me."

"Joan called it _the Ellingham curse_. We never could make relationships work. We were only good at just making each other miserable"

"You can't mean that? I don't believe that you of all people should believe in something like a curse? Who should have cursed you?"

"No, of course there is no strange power over us ruining our lives. The curse lies within us – an unfortunate genetic prevalence mixed with an awkward socialisation and furthermore no role model for working relationships whatsoever. There has not been _one_ Ellingham anyone can remember who has made a good father, mother or partner."

"You're forgetting Joan. She was married, and from what I heard happily so. That proves your theory wrong." Louisa beams at me. Obviously she doesn't know the whole truth and I'm not the one to reveal to her that even Joan's marriage was not without some stains. Although Joan came closest to being a family person, that didn't stop her taking marital fidelity with a grain of salt.

"I'm such an idiot!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

"This family line finally was close to its end. Just a couple of decades more, and this branch of the Ellinghams would have been erased…faded into history. But, no, for once I couldn't control myself, for once I didn't think straight...and now."

I turn towards James. "Now he's got the weight of the Ellingham heirloom on his shoulders. Why did I have to do it to him? Another generation under the Ellingham curse!"

"Martin, stop it! That's nonsense."

"But you've heard what Ruth said about my grandfather, and well, my father wasn't so great either...and now it's me."

"That's utterly nonsense! What did you tell me yesterday? You're not going to be like your father?"

"According to Aunt Ruth I'm even more clueless."

"No, Martin. You're a great father. Or do you think your father would have driven out onto the moors with you in the middle of the night to get you to sleep? Do you think he ever read to you, medical articles or anything else? It is quite obvious how much you care about James. You're a great Dad, and he will be very proud of you."

"Still, we Ellinghams don't have it in us to make it right. An error of evolution, and I was so close to correcting it!"

"There's nothing wrong with you, well, apart from a disastrous upbringing and the psychological scars it leaves, especially if a child is extremely intelligent and sensitive. James will never experience that. I've seen you with him. James will have your full support and love. Stop worrying. James will turn out just great!"

"Still, it simply is not fair..."

"Martin, I wouldn't have wanted any other father for my child but you."

"You're kidding!"

"No, really. I hope James will be like you in many ways, well, not in every way, but there's a lot of good in you. He could do worse than turning out like you. Or would you rather not have James around? Do you wish he didn't exist?"

I gulp. I watch him looking at me with his big blue eyes, the spitting image of mine. For me, he's the best thing that ever happened to me. But it's egoistic of me, because he would have been better off without my contribution.

"Martin?"

"No, no of course not, but it's just such a shame for him."

"Just remember what you said yesterday, and believe in it. I believe you. You won't be like your father, and so James won't be like you. He will feel loved. I promise you that."

I cock my head. I do have my doubts. A family record like ours isn't put straight by a bit of good intentions. I doubt Louisa can or wants to understand that.

Louisa observes me from the side. I feel her eyes watching me closely, making me feel uneasy. She seems worried, but I don't know what about. Finally she sighs.

_To be continued…_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"Well, this invitation might not have been very pleasant, but at least it was very informative."

"Really?" I say rather absentmindedly, mainly because I check for the last time that James is safe and that we're ready to start.

"So you've never acted like a teenager, then?"

"Uh, no, not really, I suppose."

"And do you feel a bit teenagy now?"

"Certainly not!"

"According to Ruth, you're either a teenager or in a midlife crisis. I'd prefer the teenager, to be honest."

"What does she know." I grumble. This was one of the worst conversations I've ever had, and that says a lot.

I start the motor.

"Turn the engine off." I hear Louisa, but I've got no clue why.

"Huh?"

"Off!" She orders and I do as I'm told.

Louisa leans over to me. Before I know it, one hand of hers is raking through my hair at the back of my head, pulling it gently forwards, while her other caresses the side of my neck, just above the collar.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"Ever been snogging in a car?"

"Certainly not!"

"Thought so. Teenagers do that. I did it on one of my first dates. Up on the moors. It's been fun."

"Oh, uh…" I do know that she isn't a teenager anymore and I do know that people of our age do have their experiences. Even I had a bit of my share, but I don't like it when she tells me about earlier relationships. I hate the thought of any other man's lips on hers, other man's hand touching her delicate skin, other man – no, I'd better stop here with my thoughts.

She brings her lips close to mine, but I try to withdraw.

"In case you haven't noticed, we are not teenagers anymore."

"If you are accused of acting like one, why not have the fun to go with it?"

"To prove her wrong."

Her lips meet mine, but I'm trying to resist and move away slightly. She looks at me.

"Aunt Ruth may come out at any minute."

"Then she will see that I can satisfy you just as well as any paid companion can – I hope." Louisa purrs.

"Ruth really was nasty today."

"First I was really angry, but then I realised she was even more unpleasant to you than to me. That was outrageous. She doesn't like me very much."

"That's not it."

"How would you call it?"

"She just thinks I should practise _real_ medicine again."

"What's unreal about you current job?"

"Something more spectacular, more prestigious. Up to now, my father is the one of our long line of Ellinghams in the medical professions who has reached the top. Ruth kind of hoped I could outdo him. She can't stand him. I set out to outdo him when I left medical school, but somehow, it doesn't seem important anymore."

Louisa smiles a mischievous smile.

"So you really turned into a teenager, after all."

I'm shocked and intrigued at the same time by Louisa's conclusion.

"How did you figure that out?"

"You're not only rebelling against your aunt, but you've also finally rebelled against the expectations your father had for you. You're rebelling against your parents and trying to find your own place in live."

"It's time for something new," I admit, "maybe."

Her lips come dangerously close again, so close in fact that I can feel her warm breath on my lips when she whispers "I still think we should do some snogging in the car."

She attacks me with her lips, and although I try to fight it, her tongue soon explores my mouth. When she means snogging, she doesn't mean a nice little kiss, she means a carnal one. As passionate as can be.

I feel exposed in the car, knowing that everyone who might pass by will see everything. I feel embarrassed about the public display of passion. I feel awkward being manhandled like this. I don't like it at all.

However, I can't help that my lips respond and that my tongue seeks admission. She caresses my hair and my chest, and I feel my hand on her thigh, rubbing it, wandering higher. I know it's wrong, I know I shouldn't do it, but I can't help it. She has this effect on me. I need her love, I long for her touch, and I'm putty in her hand.

Suddenly the world is far away. I don't care about a thing, and having my eyes closed, the whole world is reduced to Louisa's loving administrations.

Then the spell is broken. She has to come up for air and withdraws her lips.

I open my eyes and at first, the whole world seems unreal. The only real things are Louisa's eyes, beaming at me just inches away.

"And that's snogging in the car." She whispers, while she runs her hand up and down my chest.

I try to catch my breath and collect my thoughts.

"Didn't you like it?" Louisa enquires further.

"I, uhm…it's not that I didn't like it, but shouldn't we rather do it at home?"

"I think we should do it wherever we can. We've got a lot to catch up on."

"It's a dangerous game."

"Not so dangerous. Or is something about to go off?" She asks cheekily, and I just mange to grab her hand to prevent her touching me in an unbeseemly way.

"Louisa, please!" I try to get some reason into her. She certainly is craving physical attention today. She obviously is more confident in touching me than I am in touching her. Still, I can't deny that I quite like it. I feel myself blush from ear to ear and hear Louisa's light giggle. "It's just that Ruth could have seen us."

"She just envies you. She just has memories of a succession of quasi-sexual encounters, whatever that means."

"Well," I sigh, "but then she had a career to follow."

"Maybe career isn't everything?" Louisa probes me. I look over to her. Has she thought about what we've talked about earlier?

_To be continued…_

P.S.: I actually do remember the finale of Series 1 and the kiss in the taxi, but I chose to ignore it for _artistic reasons._


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Louisa seems to sense what I'm thinking. She, too, slumps back into her seat, both of us sitting leaned back, looking at each other.

"Uhm…about earlier….I thought about what you said." She starts a bit insecure.

"Yeah?"

"It's not that I want a career. I want my job."

"What's the difference?"

"I don't have the ambition to be more than I am now. I just don't want to lose my standing."

"Oh?" I can't hide my disappointment.

Louisa seems to realise that and turns towards me, resting on her side.

"I'm really impressed with how willing you are to give up your career. The sacrifices you're willing to make for James' sake. I'm really sorry, but I can't bear to think of giving up my job."

"I see." I try to say as calmly as possible, but I am a bit disappointed. More than a bit.

"Maybe I'm too interested in what people will think about me, maybe I'm not sure enough of our relationship," I look towards her alarmed. I don't like the sound of that. Louisa must have seen the sheer horror on my face, as she gently rubs my sleeve and continues with an apologetic expression, "sorry…not yet, anyhow."

I gulp and I nod. In a way I can understand her. Our road towards this point has been rocky at best, and I could never believe that a woman like her would want to be stuck with an old goat like me indefinitely. Maybe it's really just the thrill of conquest. Either way, I simply have to take what she is willing to give me, for as long as it lasts.

"But I do think we can make it work, honest I do!" She continues, but I learned one thing over the years – if someone points out his sincerity you're mostly already on the road to disaster.

"Don't look at me like that." Louisa keeps on talking and is now cupping my face gently. Maybe she's honest and maybe she's right and maybe we really have to work on getting our relationship on solid ground just for a bit longer.

"Maybe I'm just too selfish, or maybe I just love my job too much."

"But what about James?" I mean, this is not about us, it's about our son.

"You know, you've really surprised me. I never thought you wanted to be a father. I've got to confess, I had my doubts you'd be good at it. Sorry about that."

"Completely understandable, I'm hardly good father material. But what about James?"

"You're an excellent father. I want you to know that. And about James. I thought about what you said."

"And decided on whom as a possible child minder?" I can't help but have an acid tone in my voice.

"Don't be like that." She rubs my face. She certainly wants to soften the blow.

"So who do you think should look after James?"

"I could understand that under these circumstances, you don't want to cut back your working hours…"

"Your decision has nothing to do with it!" I interrupt her brusquely. "Just because _one_ parent prefers her job, that doesn't mean that the other would desert the child, too!"

"It's not like that, you know."

"So what would _you_ call it?"

"Don't let us start that way, right? Listen first to what I've thought. I just wanted to know if your offer's still on."

"In the mornings I will look after James." I confirm. I am responsible for the fact that he has been born, so I have the duty of giving him my attention to ensure the best possible start in life.

"Great. I hoped you would. I wasn't sure, though."

"I can't cover the afternoons. I will not give up my job completely. If you stop practising for a couple of years, you're basically out of the job. You miss too many developments and after just a few years, you have to start completely new."

"No, Martin. I don't want you to. You're our GP, and you're a fine GP, and even though Ruth thinks otherwise, I think your job is very important and you do it with brilliance. I'm proud of you being our GP."

"So what about James?" I still have the feeling she wants to sugar-coat me into something.

"There was a lot of truth in what you said earlier…"

"But…?" I probe her. If there was so much truth in it, why isn't she following my advice then?

Louisa sighs.

"_But _I'm not ready to give up my job. I want to try something first."

"Like what?"

"The problem is not primarily that I'm working, it's being out of the house that's difficult."

"The one requires the other."

"Maybe – maybe not. Look, officially I do have a deputy. However, I've never given her much to do. Maybe I was a bit afraid I could be replaceable. I do have my issues, too, you know. Having to take things in my own hands from early on, after Mum left and father wasn't able to cope, I do have difficulties in trusting other people doing their job properly. I'd rather do everything myself. Maybe it is time to work on that. Maybe I should work together with my deputy more closely."

"How?"

"See, most of the administrative stuff and ensuring that all regulations are followed I do in my office. There is no reason why my office can't be at home. I could teach in the mornings and work at my home-office in the afternoon, having an eye on James at the same time."

I groan.

"No, wait until I've finished. If something comes up, my deputy can handle that. If my presence is required, I can be reached by one phone call and I can be at the school in a few minutes, taking James with me."

"I have realised that I do have to have a backup system at school now, anyhow. I mean, what did I do yesterday, when I had to leave school because of the emergency? I left the school in charge of the _Larges_, of all people! Actually, I don't really want to know the mess they made of things, but there was no one else I could have thought of. It wouldn't be fair to my deputy if she just had to save the day in case of emergency. It's a different thing, though, if we are sharing the work companionably. Parent's evenings are after hours, anyhow, and then you've finished surgery. What do you think?"

"Oh, Louisa!" I sigh.

"What? What's wrong with that?"

"Don't you think you're spreading yourself too thin? Looking after a child is a full-time job, so is being a head teacher. You're trying to do two full-time jobs at the same time. Now it might even work, but soon James will start to crawl. You can't put him somewhere and hope he stays put, then. You'll have to watch him closely so that he does himself no harm. How are you going to do that if you're engrossed in your administrative work? How do you want to manage? You'll tire yourself out."

"Actually, I think I could do it."

"Sure you do." I sigh again. She really has to have all the strings in her hand and controlling everything. Maybe that's the kind of woman I always fall for. As different as Edith and Louisa are, they have this one thing in common – they are in control.

"I think you're not taking me seriously." Louisa complains. "I am actually quite capable. Maybe I'm not as brilliant as you are, but I was always very good at my job."

"I know you were – but then you were _only_ head teacher. Think of what happened when that boy wanted to stay at your place."

Louisa thinks and seems to remember. "The boy had a name – why can't you ever remember names?"

"The ruptured spleen."

"Peter Cronk – and he didn't want to stay with me. He wanted to stay with you."

"Uhm, yes, but he stayed with you."

"Because you dumped him on my doorstep."

"And you had to do home work and didn't even notice he had disappeared."

"He didn't disappear, he went to you. He admired you. Maybe you were sort of a father figure to him, after his Dad left."

"That's not the point!"

"What is the point?"

"Point is, if you are working, you have to concentrate. If you have to concentrate on your work, you can't concentrate on minding a child."

"I think I could. I just wasn't prepared then. Oh Martin, at least let's try. I mean, it's only during terms that I will have to be at school at all. I can take it a bit more slowly between terms. Then I'll have a couple of weeks to catch up with everything. Just try it for a while and see how it goes."

I sigh again. "Do I have a choice?"

"Can't you just support me a bit? You've got what you wanted. James will be looked after by both his parents. That is really important to you, isn't it?"

"What if you have to be at school in the afternoons and can't take him with you?"

"We'll have to have a child minder at hand anyhow. If some of us is ill. Or maybe we want to be alone for a while, especially when James is a bit older and more perceptive to his surroundings. I might feel more comfortable if we could have some days just for ourselves. Our relationship needs some maintenance work."

"Who do you have in mind?"

"Would it be alright for you if I asked Roger and Maureen? They seem to be doing a good job with their twins. They are quite well-behaved for their age."

I think for a moment. Maureen is a bit on the hysterical side, as far as I remember. But then, she was pregnant at the time she came to my surgery and so hormonally imbalanced. Roger was a decent enough chap.

"Is Roger still smoking?" I remember his unhealthy habit and don't want James to be exposed to that.

"I haven't seen him smoking since…you know."

"No, I do not know." Why do people have to stop mid-sentence and expect you to guess what they're meaning.

"Since he had his diagnosis."

"Oh, the cancer you mean."

Louisa nods embarrassed. Why can't people call things by its proper names?

"I guess he stopped smoking then, but I can ask."

"Right."

"So I can ask them? If Roger is not smoking when James would be around, that is?"

"Seems to be the most reasonable choice. At least they are not completely barmy."

"I'll talk to them. I'm sure they'll be glad to help, and for any additional penny they can make. So, are you happy with this arrangement?"

_To be continued…_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Happy is not exactly how I would describe it, but I suppose there is nothing I can do against it. "But if it doesn't work, we will talk about it again?" I raise my objections mildly.

She pats my thigh. "It'll work, Martin. I will make it work."

"The school wouldn't close if you cut your workload down."

"Thanks very much for your confidence in me!" Louisa always seems to be peeved when I say anything about her work. "Actually, many told me that I _do_ make a difference to the school."

"Of course you do."

"But maybe you think it's just not a very demanding job. After all, it's not the medical profession."

"It is very demanding."

"So too demanding for me, you mean?"

"I didn't say any such thing!"

"So why are you against me keeping my job? Why can't you see that the school needs me?"

"Everyone is replaceable."

Louisa stares at me and I prepare for a major blow. Much to my astonishment, Louisa turns silent and, after a short pause, speaks quietly.

"I know everyone can be replaced. Maybe that's what I'm afraid of. I don't want to be replaced."

"For everyone in this village, you'll always be head teacher."

"I don't know. I mean, I came back here as a teacher, and I couldn't stand working under another head. I had to pull myself together not to tell him how to do his job."

"But then again, Mr. eh…Sprain, was completely potty."

"Strain…his name was Strain. Oh Martin, when will you ever learn to use the right names? And he wasn't potty, he was ill."

"Which made him mentally unstable."

"Whatever. Fact is that I didn't like it, and I don't want to downgrade. I need this position, maybe because I worked too hard to get it. You don't know how it is to work under someone else."

"Do you think I started as head surgeon? I had to work my way up like anyone else."

"Working your way up is alright. Working it down not so."

"Yes," I gulp.

Louisa looks at me guiltily and places her hand softly on my thigh. "Sorry, I forgot."

I nod. It still hurts when I am reminded on my incapacity as a surgeon. I look her into her eyes. "But sometimes, something good comes out of it."

She rubs my thigh and smiles at me.

"Did it? For you?"

I reach over to James, to fondle his tiny foot. Then I look into Louisa's mesmerizing eyes and nod. Louisa's face clouds.

"You're really making me feel bad, you know."

"No!"

"Not intentionally, I know, but I feel so selfish. You're giving up practically everything – the job you love and at which you're good at, London, where you feel more comfortable and your daily routine, which worked like clockwork, I suppose. But I simply cannot give up my job. Just think what happened when I wrote my resignation to go to London with you – I came crawling back and had to call myself lucky that they hadn't already replaced me. I need this security."

"So you don't expect it'll work between us?"

"No, it's not that – I just need a safety blanket. I've been let down too often."

"I won't let you down. Not anymore."

"I need to know that I am free to go and free to stay. I don't want to feel trapped and I don't want to be dependent on you. Besides, I actually do believe the school needs me."

"At work, we will always be replaceable. I worked ridiculously long hours as a surgeon. I had to. The work had to be done, and who else should do it? After my haemophobia had developed, they kept on operating. Of course they did. They had to. Someone else worked the long hours - who else should do it?"

"The only place where we can't ever be replaced is the family. No one can take your place as a mother or a father."

"They can leave you, and you have to go on."

"But didn't you miss your Mum? As a teenager? Maybe even when you got your A-levels? Didn't you want her to be there, to be proud of you?"

"I suppose so. It's silly, really."

"No, it's natural. Mummy hated me. She really thought I ruined her life by simply being alive. Nevertheless, although she sent me to boarding school as soon as possible, just to get rid of me – despite all that, I wanted her love, her support, and I wanted to be there for her."

"And Dad. Always belittling me. Always having demands on me. I worked hard not to disappoint him too much."

"All my life I have had to work hard, had to be better than anyone else to be at least accepted and maybe just a little bit respected. All my life, as soon as I slipped slightly, it was of great satisfaction to everyone."

"But not James. He trusted me without me having to do anything about it. I didn't even deserve it, given that I was about to leave him for my job. I want to earn his trust, justify what he has given me. Do I make any sense at all?"

I see Louisa looking at me and the softness of her eyes makes my heart melt. She looks at me for a very long time.

"Yes, Martin. You do make sense. Lots of sense." She wipes away a single tear trickling down her cheek. "That was so sweet of you. If we aren't careful, you'll develop into a softie."

"Great." I grunt. These comments are _exactly_ what I need. I switch the engine on.

_To be continued…_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

We're on the narrow lanes leading from the farm to Portwenn.

There is one thing I would like to do, but I can't because Louisa is with me. I can't think of any possible way to get it done without her finding out what I am doing.

I know there is no good reason to do what I feel that I need to do, but something within me insists and I really have to do it at some point.

As we are close to where I'd have to go, it would be reasonable to do it now instead of driving out here again some other time.

I look over to Louisa. Then back to the road.

I've got to ask her soon, or I'll miss the turn.

I clear my throat uncomfortably.

I see Louisa looking over at me, then back at the road.

I nervously clutch the steering wheel then I clear my throat again.

"Are you trying to say something or do you just have a frog in your throat?" Louisa looks at me and asks.

This is your chance. She's meeting you halfway and you just have to reach over.

"I…was thinking."

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind if we take a little detour?"

"Detour? Where to?"

"There's something I've got to do."

"Some home visit?"

"No…nothing professional."

"How long would it take? I'd like to be home in time for James' next feed."

James did have a bottle while we were at Ruth's, so he should be fine for a bit.

"That shouldn't be a problem. It's just…" I try to justify myself.

"No problem, just go ahead."

"….just that I don't want to drive out here again just for…" I cough nervously.

"I told you, it's fine. Where are we going?"

"Not far."

"But where?"

"There's something I've got to do." I say sternly before I use the indicator to leave the road to Portwenn.

I approach the parking space at the cemetery and park the car.

Louisa looks at me intrigued. She hadn't asked me again where I wanted to go, obviously aware that she wasn't going to get a useful answer.

I get out of the car and I notice that Louisa wants to get out herself.

"Please. Would you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"I've got to do this alone."

"You're sure? I'd love to come with you."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Alright. If you think so."

I nod. I'm grateful that I don't have to argue. I'm grateful that she isn't angry with me.

I take a few steps, then pause. It doesn't feel right. I shouldn't go alone after all.

I turn on my heels, back to the car.

"That was quick." Louisa comments when I open the door.

"No, I…"

"Yes, Martin I know. A _joke_?"

"Ah…right." I answer insecurely.

"Would you like some company, after all?"

"No…eh…yes." Not the way she thinks, that is.

"Great, now I know exactly whether I should keep listening to the radio or get out."

"It's…" I struggle. It's so very hard to ask someone else for permission. I'm not used to that. "I…would you mind…"

"What? Spill it."

"James."

"What about him?"

"Uhm…James…would you mind if I take him. With me." I stutter. "Won't be long."

"Of course not, go ahead."

I quickly open the back door and get James out of his child seat. Before I close the door again, Louisa turns around.

"Sure?"

"About what?"

"That you don't want me to come with you?"

"Sure. I won't be long."

I close the door and with James in my arms, I walk quickly.

It doesn't take long until I find the grave. It's a small cemetery, nothing like Highgate in London.

I stand in front of the stone. I look at the name which is so familiar, but which I've hardly ever seen in writing. Somehow it seems wrong to see those grave letters in stone for such an unconventional person.

It is nothing like Aunty Joan. Somehow, this place doesn't seem right for a free-spirit like Joan. The sound of the crashing waves and the birds singing are more like her.

I stand at her grave, James' head tucked against my shoulder, and I'm not quite sure what I want here.

I never was one for graveyards. What do you do here? No one knows you were here. The dead wouldn't notice. But now, that the farm has turned into Ruth's place, there is nowhere else to feel close to Joan. After that disastrous meeting with Ruth and after the turmoil, reconciliation and decisions of the last 24 hours, I simply had to tell Joan about my plans. I've got to tell her that the future looks like what she had planned for me.

I know that she will never know. I know that she cannot hear me ever again. It's not that I want her to know, because I know that this is impossible. It's just that I feel it's my duty to tell her anyhow.

I know that I'm not making much sense. I feel stupid standing here. The words fail me. How do you address someone who can't hear you? How do you talk to a stone?

"Uhm…this is awkward." I start, just to get used to speaking aloud. "I'm really not good at this." I explain to the stone.

"I know that you can't hear me and I know that you don't realise what I'm saying. It's just that I thought I should tell you anyhow."

"I will not go to London. I know that's what you wanted from me from the start. What you wanted _for _me. I did see the disappointment in your eyes when I told you about the London job. Not even you could have been happy for me to finally get my old job back. I know you thought I belonged here now."

"Well, I can't tell you what led to this decision. It's complicated. You should have seen what happened since yesterday. You wouldn't believe me anyhow as you weren't there. It was weird. Even for Portwenn standards."

"Yes, you're right, I don't like Portwenn any better than I ever did. It's just that I've realised what you knew from the moment you heard about Louisa's return – that Louisa belongs here and that I have to be where she is, now that our son is here."

"By the way, this is him." I hold James up for him to be able to see the stone. I don't know why I'm doing it, but by now I have almost convinced myself that I'm really talking to Joan. "It took some time, but Louisa and I were able to agree on a name finally. It's James Henry, after both our grandparents. I know, your father's name will soon be forgotten because even now almost everyone calls him James, but that was the best I could do. I tried to get Henry first, but Louisa didn't want to have any of it. I hope you don't mind. You know how easily she can be offended. You know how stubborn she is. I didn't want to risk another row. Yes, I know, it's hard to believe, but an Ellingham gave in."

"Maybe you think your father got more than he deserved in being represented in his great-grandson's middle name. You never thought much about the family values of the Ellinghams. I suppose you didn't have an easy time with your father either. Maybe that's why you understood my pain with mine."

"I'm scared when I think of the history in parenting skills of our family. I'm scared for James Henry. I'm scared for myself. I'm afraid I will just be the next in line to scar their offspring badly, just handing down the _Ellingham curse_ into the next generation."

"When I came back to Cornwall, your first words were that you had hoped that I wouldn't turn out to be like my father, but of course I had. I really hope that's not true. I promised Louisa yesterday that I won't be like my father. That's a horrid thought."

"I know I'm difficult. I know I'm not good father material. I still hear you '_You just have to work twice as hard.'_ Didn't I always?"

"Maybe that's why I wanted to go to London. Maybe that's why I didn't want to commit myself."

"You'll be glad to hear that things have changed. I've decided to fight it, fight the curse. This should be the end of the Ellingham curse. I know that I have decided to stand up to an enemy that is older than any human standard can describe, an enemy that has had centuries to grow, flourish and adapt perfectly to this family. An enemy that has a firm grip on any Ellingham, probably from the first moment that any Ellingham walked this earth."

"I know how strong my opponent is, but I owe it to James to try. It's not his fault that he was born into such a dysfunctional family. I promise, I will do everything to let this curse end with me, to be buried with me eventually and not to inflict it on James."

"I'm sorry that you aren't here to help me anymore. I would have needed your help more than ever before. Things between Louisa and me are still a bit fragile, I don't understand her, really, even though I try, and I have no one now to turn to."

"Your sister certainly isn't of any help. You should have seen her. She was ghastly. At least it helped me to see the Ellingham trait from the outside. We really are a horrid lot. At least I know now what I have to fight, and maybe, if I try hard enough, and maybe with the help of Louisa I can make it."

"You've always had the confidence in me that I could do whatever I wanted to do. You always were confident enough that I could adapt to everything intellectually. I will try. I will not promise anything, but I will try."

"Well, that's it, basically." I take a deep breath. "I just thought I should tell you. I know it's too late, and I should have seen sense before it was too late for you to realise that your advice didn't fall on deaf ears. It just took some time to sink in. Time and the experience of James' birth. Time, and the fear of losing him again. Time, and the feeling of pure despair after Louisa left me again."

"It took a lot to make me realise what really counts, but I'm certain now. You were right all along. I am a father now, and I have to stand up to this responsibility. You were also right about Louisa and me. You knew it from the moment you caught me staring into her classroom. You knew before I had the courage to admit to it."

"Now you've left me. Really great timing. Just sneaking off leaving me alone at the most crucial point in my life."

"But I will make it, at least I will do everything I can. I want you to be proud of me."

"Well, that's it. I suppose. Louisa is waiting in the car. I don't want to let her wait too long. It's goodbye then."

I said what I'd wanted to say. I feel better now, although I still don't know why. I return to the car and secure James safely in his seat.

Louisa looks at me. "You're alright?"

"Fine." I say.

"Let's go home, shall we?"

"Yes. Home."

_The end_

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_I thank all kind readers, especially those who took their time to comment. It was a huge encouragement._

_My very special thanks goes, as always, to my proof reader, fanficfan71, who still patiently corrects everything I throw at her. All my errors are my own._

_My last but not least thanks goes to Buffalo_ _Pictures for creating such wonderful characters. As always, it had been fun to play with them for some time. I hope, I'll return them to you undamaged. Series 5 really gave lots of inspiration and I'm looking forward to another inspiring series next year._


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